Dimensional Terror
by Offcentre
Summary: [CHAPTER 5 is up!] Takes place after 'Ego Trip'. Mandark enters the fourth dimension to change the path of time, but finds himself tangled in a web of alternate dimensions. He'll need the help of Dexter, Dee Dee, and Olga to get out of this one!
1. Predestined to Change

> **DIMENSIONAL TERROR   
Chapter One: Predestined to Change**
> 
> Is it totally insane to write an actual long semi-deep chaptered story for so outrageous a cartoon show as "Dexter's Laboratory"? Probably... but I was inspired to do it anyway. Like all my fics, this one will focus on Mandark. This story takes place a few weeks after the culmination of _Ego Trip_, so while having seen _Ego Trip_ is not vital to understanding this story, it'd probably help. ^_^;   
**Constructive criticism**, whether you like this story or not, is always **greatly appreciated**, so by all means use the happy little Review form down below. Oh yes, just so you know. I rated this fic PG-13 mostly because of the sheer complexity that the plot will eventually have, and also some minute swearing and semi-adult themes in later chapters. Don't worry about it, though. I know better than to desanctify a cartoon (or do I?). Everyone thank **Honoria Glossop** for beta reading this for me and forcing me to write on it all weekend, and may she never forget the Artsy S.   
**11.03.2001:** I've revised a lot of this chapter, and made it a bit longer. Feel free to reread it and don't forget to review. 
> 
> "Dexter's Laboratory" is © 1996 Hanna-Barbera Productions and Cartoon Network.   
------------ 
> 
> The rhythmic raindrops splashing against his windowpane were driving him insane. Gripping the gnawed pencil between scrawny digits, he stared at the numbers as they blurred on the paper before him. Peace would not come without tremendous effort. He thought of the test the next day, and how vital it was that he did perfectly on it, how crucial it was to all his plans... But another notion entered his mind, one of a far worse predicament, and quaking with anger, he soon found himself with two snapped halves of a pencil. 
> 
> "Blast," he muttered, and tossed the useless pieces of wood into a trash bin at the side of his diminutive writing desk. The tapping of the rain entered his consciousness again. Could he have no reprieve? He squeezed his eyes shut, envisioning the possibility of another A minus and the disgrace that would accompany it, that face that would rise above all the rest to ridicule him so gleefully. _No, it cannot happen again!_ Clenching his tongue firmly between his teeth, he tried to speed through the assignment, but despite his fears he felt could muster motivation to continue. 
> 
> School had never really been a place for him to learn anything; he went there daily and was only reminded of things he already knew from countless previous experiments and studies he'd either read about or had conducted for himself. There was no need to put any effort into the work. So why couldn't he focus long enough to jot down even one simple answer? Something treacherous would not leave his mind- that impending thought _had_ to be the source of all this frustration- and if he did not do anything about it, it would consume him. He slumped forward and let his forehead come to rest on the desk. "I need a break." 
> 
> After a moment's contemplation he leaped up and stormed his way to the closet door. Shoving a row of hangers aside in the cramped and dank storage space, he stepped through the gap in the pressed white button-down shirts and crisp blue shorts and was abruptly engulfed in an ethereal white glow. 
> 
> Black thorny pipes and walkways swirled in all directions, workstations and machinery of similar décor branching from them at intervals. The whole enormous atrium radiated a white aura that was impeded only by those parasitic silhouettes. At the heart of this sector floated an oval superstructure with spikes and spirals and narrow stairs and, though not visible from the entrance in which he stood, the command centre that kept functioning the entire facility. A steady pulse emanating from its fiberoptic veins gave a hollow sense of solitary life to the cold black figures and washed over him every time he entered the chamber, as though there were binary numbers being pumped through his own body, all part of one solid heartless machine. _How bitter and colourless life in this country has made me,_ he resigned. It was towards this superstructure that he ran. 
> 
> "The D-5 simulator," he instructed one of his waiting robot servants when he reached a partition high up in the tower. He slipped on thick insulated gloves with numerous wires and circuits flowing from their seams, and removed black goggles from their peg on the partition's wall. With the goggles strapped onto his rounded head, he found himself standing upon a green grid traced against solid black. 
> 
> He looked around himself; wiggled his fingers in front of his eyes. "Loading," rumbled a woman's voice as it reverberated through the vast field. Abruptly his school-clothes changed to an elegant Edwardian costume- a rich burgundy velvet waistcoat was wrapped over a silky white shirt, and garnished with a black lace cravat. Heavy black pants were tucked into leather riding boots that nearly reached his skinny knees. He smoothed one of the pant legs and grinned. 
> 
> "D-5 simulator, Level 36." The grid flickered, then snapped into a chthonic environment of jagged black mountain peaks surrounding him on all sides. A swirling red tint devoured the horizons and bled down the faces of the range. He was perched deep within the gulch, on a small outcropping that wound its way through the chain of craggy rocks, halting before a particularly large one where he stood. A shaft of light burst into the vespertine air; an illumined doorway laid out in front of him. 
> 
> "Hello?" he called out, but the only answer was the whistling of the dry wind as it whipped its way through the canyon walls. He took a step forward, hearing the pebbles and broken stones crunching underfoot, and tried to discern a means to get around the large formation and find some sort of a trail. 
> 
> There was a screech and a flaming black shape appeared in front of him, gaping holes the only indicator of eyes or a mouth, and it began to lunge for him at an incredible speed. "Ray gun," he announced, and a red-barreled firearm appeared in his right hand. The blasts from his weapon at first appeared to have no effect on the demon, but then it began to dissipate and fade away, and with a haunting cry it vanished into the howling wind. 
> 
> He rounded the corner of the outcropping to discover a lever set into the floor of the path. Upon pulling the lever, a shaft of light burst into the vespertine air; an illumined doorway laid out in front of him. 
> 
> On booted feet he crossed the threshold, and with a snap the omniscient light ceased to be. The door had closed behind him. His breath was the only sound indicating that anything existed in that ultimate darkness, with not even the faint sounds of wind to rustle the room, and he could distinguish no shapes. "Lantern." A glowing orb flickered in his outstretched left palm. "All right, Holy Light will do," he muttered to himself. 
> 
> Throwing malicious shadows that smothered the landscape, he rotated through the room and investigated its composition. A swirling staircase of endless length crept up the far wall of the large foyer like a dark vine against the crumbling walls. Jumbled metal statues were situated at intervals on the rotting wooden floors, some partially covered with filthy canvases, others broken or only half-assembled. 
> 
> "Skeleton key." He began to ascend the stairs despite their groans of objection under even his meager weight. 
> 
> "You do not have that item." 
> 
> Frowning, he slowly repeated, "Skeleton key." 
> 
> "You do not have that item," the voice confirmed. 
> 
> The stairs creaked deafeningly beneath him. "Key?" he whimpered. 
> 
> "You do not have that item." 
> 
> He sighed and continued his climb. The steps winded through the air, spanning over a seemingly endless valley of the foyer far below with its imposing spears of steely artwork glinting back. His ball of light could not outline the path more than eight feet on all sides; it was as if something rank in the musty air was pushing the light back in on itself, devouring it. That same filthy breeze grew stronger as he perdured… 
> 
> "I know that smell," he snarled. The memory did not, however, yield any identifying label. His focus drifted from the stench when he noticed that thin slivers arranged in the pattern of a doorway's outline were at last visible in the distance. 
> 
> "You do not have that item-" 
> 
> "Oh, shut up." 
> 
> He reached out for the door when at last he had arrived at its precipice, but at the touch of his hand, it disappeared. "What-" 
> 
> Before he could say any more, he was jettisoned to the centre of a brilliant room, sprawled on his back, forced to stare at the harsh fluorescence that yielded no other forms but a glowing white light. "Welcome to my lair. I see you've found your way." Although he could distinguish see but the creamy glow of the room, that affected voice was too familiar… 
> 
> The glare faded to reveal a short boy with shocking orange hair hovering above him. "You!" he cried. The boy curled his lips and his glasses furrowed maliciously to match his wicked grin. 
> 
> "Yes, it is I, and I believe I have something that you might want." He gestured to the far end of the domed room with its moulded walls and baroque ceiling, where an intricate wrought iron cage of black stood. The boy on the floor followed with his dazed eyes, and gasped. 
> 
> "Help me get out of here!" wailed the beautiful maiden inside the distant cage. "Please, oh please, help!" He could not see her clearly enough to verify her identity, but if he knew his enemy well, he was certain who the saintly prisoner must be. Only one foe could be so cruel as to taunt him by imprisoning his heavenly angel! 
> 
> He scrambled to his feet. "Fear not, my love, for I will rescue you! Foil!" The blaster he had been clutching transformed into a thin fencing sword, which he quickly swung to point at the short boy. 
> 
> "Not so fast," his opponent slurred. With that, a sabre of his own clashed against the taller boy's blade, and they locked their foils against each other for a few moments. Sweat was visible on the shorter boy's brow just under the edge of his fiery hair, and dripping down onto his suit of black and orange. The hero felt no fear, no hesitation, in the face of his worst nemesis. Only total confidence would allow him to preponderate and save the fair damsel. 
> 
> "You know that you have no chance to beat me, you incompetent fool. Whatever you can create, I shall destroy. I am the one and only boy genius, and now this world shall be mine!" His eyes bulged and his orange hair quivered to accentuate the proclamation. 
> 
> Swiftly the adventurer retracted his sword and made a new jab at the villain, who deflected the shot. He grunted. "Your evil ways shall not prevail. Besides, this is my game and I designed it. I will win!" 
> 
> "Ha! Are you kidding?" He attacked but the taller boy parried. "You never have been able to defeat me!" He began to laugh, a tortured, raspy laugh, his round body shaking. 
> 
> It was at that moment that the protagonist safely sliced his rapier into the boy's side. The villain's eyes began to widen, and then he blinked out of existence. 
> 
> "I did it! I defeated him!" He cast the foil aside and threw his arms into the air. 
> 
> "Congratulations," came the ubiquitous announcer. "You have won the game." 
> 
> But he was not listening. At the far side of the hall he approached the cage, where the beautiful girl in an elaborate pink satin dress crouched. Though her hair was mussed and dirt smudged her face, in those full skirts shimmering with numerous hues of translucent pink and white and with the pearl jewellery that adorned her neck and ears, she resembled a goddess. "Thank you for defeating my evil brother," she gushed in her melodious tone. 
> 
> "It was only part of my duty to you, my dear." The ray gun was in his hand once more. He fired it at the lock on the door and the metal disintegrated, the door to the cage swinging open with a screech of metal. 
> 
> She leaped from the bars and into his welcoming arms. "I love you," she swooned, deep blue eyes looking into his own, full of admiration. Holding her frail body against his, he became delirious with the thrill of being so near her, ecstatic to once more see her shining face… 
> 
> "I love you, too." He ran his fingers through her silky blonde hair. 
> 
> She leaned towards him and closed her eyes. _At last!_ he thought joyously, puckering his lips in preparation for the utter euphoria he was about to experience. A heavenly scent flooded his nose. Her porcelain face came closer, closer… 
> 
> There was a beep and everything went black. 
> 
> "Hey, what's going on?" he cried, yanking the goggles from his head and tossing them aside. He ripped the gloves off of his hands. "Olga!" 
> 
> A girl much shorter than he but infinitely more terrifying stood next to the wall, twirling an electrical plug in one hand. Two black pigtails arched from either side of her head and she wore a deceivingly innocent pink leotard and tutu, topped off with white tights and pink ballet slippers. Perhaps her attire made her look cute and perky, but her expression was definitely not cuddly, nor was it one of happiness by any stretch of the imagination. 
> 
> "Where's my homework, Man-dork?" 
> 
> He stepped away from her and backed right into a shelf stuffed with containers and test tubes. "I was just finishing it up…" 
> 
> "Yeah, right. from inside your stupid virtual reality world?" She let the unplugged cord fall and took a step towards him. "Apparently there's something I need to teach you, dorky little brother…" 
> 
> He cowered on the floor, several glass beakers tumbling down around him and shattering. "Please don't hurt me! I'll do your homework right now, I promise!" He brought his knees under his chin and curled into a ball. 
> 
> She strutted over to him and tapped his trembling knees. "You won't go play kissy-face with your stupid digital Dee Dee?" 
> 
> "How did you know?" he shrieked, straightening up. 
> 
> "Maybe it was 'coz you were doing _this_." She scrunched up her nose and began to make smooching noises. 
> 
> Going red in the face, he lunged towards her threateningly. "Get out of my laboratory and leave me alone!" he howled, before realising what he was doing. When he saw her eyes, though, and the fist she formed, he dropped to his knees in submission and splayed his hands to his sides, almost putting him down to her height. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it! Do to my lab as you like!" 
> 
> A powerful, compact fist snatched him by the collar and pulled him towards a clenched hand. He squeezed his eyes closed in dread of the coming agony. No punch came… He opened one eye, and looked around. "Aren't you going to beat me up?" 
> 
> "I'm too tired," she lamented, and released him. He clattered to the floor amongst the shards of glass. "Just do my homework. I'll beat you up in the morning, or something. Good night, Mandark." She began a slow descent down the superstructure's ramp. 
> 
> "Good night, Olga." He sighed and pulled himself back up. 
> 
> The chamber hummed with the subtle sounds of processors sending data in all directions of the laboratory. He bent over to replug the simulator, but then thought better of it, and instead made his way back to his bedroom. _Someday I will defeat Dexter for real._ But all he could envision was that eerie scene that had transpired a few weeks back; how he had been plucked from the time-space continuum just after a humiliating failed attempt at infiltrating Dexter's laboratory, and was forced to suffer through an unbearable ghastly parade of his future failures and ultimate downfall. Granted, he had taken over the world in that future, but… no. It could not turn out that way. _Is the path of time immutable?_ No, he did not have leisure time to dwell on such things, not if he wished to live long enough to find out. 
> 
> Still, as he scratched away with a fresh pencil late into the night on both Olga's homework and his own, listening to the passing thunderstorm, he could not help but wonder… 
> 
> ----- 
> 
> "Good morning, Mr. Luvinsky," the rest of the class sang merrily. Mandark only hung his weary head, and tried not to look at the simpering boy next to him, so eupeptic and eager to learn. It made him sick. Dexter always did well in school, but he was usually learning things for the very first time, whereas Mandark had already learnt all the material long ago as a mere toddler in State School 590. As a result, Mandark rarely put much effort into his work, which would occasionally make his grades suffer, but he was far too jaded by the mediocrity of American schools to waste his time on such endeavours. He glanced down at the sloppy homework assignment before him with only a miniscule twinge of regret. 
> 
> Mr. Luvinsky rubbed at his shiny forehead. "Good morning, class! Please pass your math homework from last night to the front." A smug Dexter grabbed the paper off of Mandark's desk and placed it on his own. 
> 
> Oh, how he hated that fool! 
> 
> Burning behind Dexter's thick glasses were eyes far too proud for their own good, surveying all that they saw as their personal dominion. And, alas, Mandark had viewed that to be true. If the events of the past few weeks really predicted the course of the future, Dexter would leave him absolutely nothing, not so much as his own corpse so that he may decompose in solitude. Instead he would be no more than a perverse addition to a museum that would pay grotesque patronage to that short orange-haired twit. Mandark would be mocked and scorned. And with every peek at one another, they both knew it; both recalled the denouement that had been prescribed for them. They had not spoken since it all happened- not that they spoke much anyway, unless it was to argue- and yet that was all the more agonising to Mandark, to stare at that smiling moron and know of that fatal blow Dexter would deal him in years to come! 
> 
> "Today's first lesson will be different in that we're going to study something we wouldn't normally cover- the subject of time travel and the different dimensions. I hope this will be a nice break from all the astronomy we've been working on. Can anyone name the three dimensions?" 
> 
> Even Mr. Luvinsky tormented him! The mere mention of time was enough to fill Mandark with a rage so volatile it was a wonder he didn't spontaneously combust. He scrubbed narrow fingers through his shimmering black hair in an effort to divert his mind and fixated his eyes on an overhead projector in the corner of the room. 
> 
> Receiving no responses, the teacher informed them, "Well, there is the first dimension, which is length, or width." The portly man drew a straight line on the chalkboard. "Can anyone tell me the second? Anyone?" Dexter waved his arm around wildly but Mr. Luvinsky ignored him. "Haven't any of you read _A Wrinkle in Time_?" 
> 
> Mandark emotionlessly copied the line into his notebook. 
> 
> "Second is the dimension of height." He turned the line into a square. "Do you know the third dimension, class? Please tell me someone has read _Flatland_ or _Sphereland_… Aren't these things on your reading list for Mrs. Wolfberg?" Empty faces gazed back at him as though they weren't hearing anything at all. 
> 
> Hunching over his desk, Mandark tried to evade Dexter's notice. Something malicious was in that boy's smile as he flailed his hand in the air, was in the way he curved his brow… 
> 
> Mr. Luvinsky transformed the square on the board into a cube. "Now we add depth. This is the dimension of our world, where we can see three sides of the cube at once, can sense the depth of objects. Drawings and things printed on paper are only two dimensional, but when you involve the depth of something as in a sculpture or bas relief, it has three." He looked around the classroom, then finally pointed to Dexter and asked, "Dexter? Can you tell us what the fourth dimension is, the one that we can't see?" 
> 
> Dexter straightened in his desk, and Mandark turned his head away and instead noted the intricate patterns made by the flecks on the linoleum floor. "Well, Mr. Luvinsky, the fourth dimension is that of time- as I'm sure my colleague Mandark here can tell you." He swiveled to the taller boy and gave him a flagistic look. "Or would you rather I call you _Overlord_?" 
> 
> That cruel flat laughter excoriated Mandark's nerves and made him cringe. _That_ jerk_! For weeks he does not speak to me, and when he finally does, it is only to mock me and remind me of my sad doom!_ And yet the worst of it was not done. Three times over he would experience the anguish of defeat against Dexter, and every time he would remain helpless to change the course. Over and over until he was in his final form, locked into that gloomy fate. Could he do nothing to change that haunting premonition? 
> 
> "Thank you, Dexter, that is correct." The instructor pretended to not hear the last statement, as he had long since learned not to involve himself in the boys' constant rivalry. "If we could see the dimension of time it would be like seeing the act of motion. I could wave my hand like this-" he demonstrated- "and you could see, at the same time, my hand when it was down here, up here at the top of its arc, and down over here." 
> 
> Mandark blinked and held his own hand in front of him and shook it. If he did it fast enough, he actually _could_ see the flowing of his own hand at both sides of its motion at once… 
> 
> "The fourth dimension is best described in _Slaughterhouse V_- but don't go reading that! I don't want your parents angry with me!" He chuckled. "In that book, there are aliens who live in the fourth dimension, and they are always getting tossed around in time to different points of their life. They know how the universe will end, but choose to do nothing about it, for they feel it is simply the way time is constructed and it is not their place to alter that." 
> 
> Mandark became aware that Dexter was giving him a sly grin. Irritated, he stuck his tongue out at the unruly dissenter. 
> 
> "But they describe the ability to see time as looking at an entire mountain range. They liken a human's three-dimensional view to being strapped to a slow-moving train, being forced to look straight at the mountain range without the ability to turn your head to see the beginning of it or the end, and then to only be able to look at a very tiny section of the range through a lead pipe." He replaced the chalk in its tray, stirring up more dust as he did so. "Now then. Any questions?" 
> 
> Feeling an awkward kinship with the extra-terrestrials, Mandark raised his hand. "Yes, Mandark?" 
> 
> "The aliens think a human's view of time is limited, and yet they themselves can do nothing to alter it. But we can restructure our three dimensions, to an extent. Why can't they change their fourth?" 
> 
> After frowning pensively for a moment, Mr. Luvinsky replied, "_Slaughterhouse V_ is only one way of representing the fourth dimension. The book focuses on many things, including World War II and man's own helplessness no matter what dimension he exists in." He glanced curiously at all the students staring at him in confusion. "It was a rather existentialist book." Mandark looked downcast. "There are other approaches to fourth-dimensional theories, though. H.G. Wells' _The Time Machine_ shows man in a fairly active rôle in the shifting of time, as does Bradbury's _The Sound of Distant Thunder_- though it too is pretty bleak." 
> 
> The Time Machine_… of course!_ At last he began to smile. Man was capable of shifting time to his own wishes. "Nothing is inalterable if you control time," he uttered to himself. 
> 
> "What are you talking about?" Dexter demanded. "You can't change time! What has happened will always happen, for it already did!" 
> 
> Mandark scowled at him. "It hasn't happened yet. We're still sitting right here in fourth grade." 
> 
> "Three more times I will defeat you, and there is nothing you can do about it, Man-dork," he concluded with a self-satisfied smirk. Yes, Dexter definitely had his ego on the brain at all times. 
> 
> Infuriation rippled through Mandark's body. "I can change the course of my life. Making different decisions will inevitably lead me down an entirely different path, and I will destroy you, Dexter." 
> 
> There was more laughter from the little boy. "Yeah, right. You couldn't change a reactor's cooling rods." 
> 
> "Mandark? Dexter?" bellowed the angry instructor. "Are you done yet, or would you rather settle your differences in _detention_?" 
> 
> They both hung their heads. "We're sorry, Mr. Luvinsky." 
> 
> "That's better." He scowled at them. "Okay, class. You may have ten minutes to study your notes in silence before we take our test over long division…" 
> 
> ----- 
> 
> "Now that we are on speaking terms again, Mandark, why don't we talk about what happened the other week?" questioned Dexter as they left the classroom. 
> 
> Mandark ceased mid-stride, slowly drawing his brown Oxford shoes back to a standing position. "Is there something you wanted to discuss regarding it?" 
> 
> "Well, I guess there's really nothing to discuss," he grinned. "It's now indisputable that I'm better than you!" 
> 
> "That is not true." Mandark struggled to keep his voice cool, but he could feel his face heating up. "The future may be changed any moment by something I may or may not do, Dexter, and where will that leave you? Caught up in your own fantasies only to be severely disappointed? At least _I've_ learned from my future mistakes." 
> 
> A lengthy snort burst from Dexter's mouth. "Whatever you say, _Overlord_." 
> 
> "As I seem to recall, it wasn't really you who defeated that hideous misrepresentation of me, now was it?" As they rounded a corner in the dingy hallways, Mandark finally indulged himself in a satisfactory smirk. 
> 
> "I don't know what you are talking about," Dexter growled. "That stupid girl-" 
> 
> "Dee Dee is not stupid!" He had almost regained control of himself, but with that comment his temper had been unleashed in full. The nerve of Dexter to blame all his faults on that gracious seraph who was the only beacon Mandark had to follow in his otherwise dark life- especially if the imprecation was true! "Maybe if you didn't spend all your time drenching yourself in your own ego, you'd see that she's much brighter than you give her credit for!" 
> 
> A raised brow hinted that Dexter was unconvinced. "So many delusions plague you, Mandark. So desperate are you to defeat me that you will try to disprove the basic principles of time, and so infatuated are you with my idiotic sister that you call her brilliant and refuse to hate her even when she obliterates you!" 
> 
> "So you admit it was her doing, then." He permitted the boastful look to overtake his face, and dropped his arms to his sides. 
> 
> Dexter grimaced. "You… you… I hate you! Get out of my sight!" 
> 
> "Hi, Dexter!" rang out a voice. 
> 
> The girl who pranced up to them wore pink ballet shoes and a matching leotard and tutu. Two tufts of blonde pigtails were painstakingly sculpted to perfection on top of her head, bouncing gingerly with every step she took. A broad smile was perpetually carved into her face beneath wide blue eyes that scanned everything around her with a sense of wonder. _Her eyes, her hair, the way she glitters like the stars..._ In Mandark's mind, she was the pinnacle of beauty. 
> 
> "Dee Dee…" Mandark gasped, and clutched at his chest. Just being near her was like bathing in honey and soaking in all the aesthetic juices of a gorgeous sunset. She was the ultimate inspiration to him, the only means he knew to carry on in his otherwise menial existence. The way she sparkled with every step she took; it filled his heart with incomparable joy! If only she would return his passions. If only she would see what a wonderful suitor to her he could be… 
> 
> Her pointed nose turned upwards. "Ew. It's Mandark." 
> 
> He reached for her hand and brought it to his lips with the intention of kissing it gently. "Hello, my dear," his nasally voice squeaked as he attempted to sound suave. 
> 
> "Get away from me!" she cried, and yanked her hand away. "See you later, Dexter!" Turning, she skipped away, her kinetic vibes brightening the hallway as she exuded vivacity. 
> 
> Mandark uttered a dramatic sigh. "She's so wonderful." 
> 
> "Get real," Dexter moaned. "You can't possibly know what it's like to have her invading your laboratory, ruining all of your inventions." 
> 
> Crossing his arms, Mandark snapped, "I beg to differ." 
> 
> ----- 
> 
> Puddles of rain populated the streets from the previous night's shower, and the world was still coated in a murky grey by the clouds that had yet to disperse themselves. The neighbourhood through which he walked was wedged uncomfortably between the rustic homes on the border of downtown and the antiseptic new structures of the suburbs- a deteriorating baby boomer locale filled with middle-class nuclear families not quite sufficiently inspired nor financed to move further out. Nothing like the orderly familiarity of Russian apartment blocks, Mandark observed with much disdain. 
> 
> Dexter was shuffling away in the other direction on his squatty legs, Dee Dee prancing alongside him. With every pirouette, her legs arced in such a graceful display and she so delicately moved her head he wanted to throw roses to her and hold her lovingly in his arms for the rest of eternity. How Mandark would love to be in his place! Instead he glanced at Olga. The scowl more bitter than months-old milk made Mandark want to hide until he could be absolutely certain her infuriation had blown over- if ever it would. She was not happy about something, and probability was high that she would take it out on him. 
> 
> As soon as they reached the yellow-sided house, Mandark rushed inside and headed for the stairs, hoping to escape the fit of rage his sister was no doubt preparing to throw. _Let me make it to my room,_ he prayed while pounding up the staircase. His feet thudded and slipped on the nasty carpet that was most likely the original carpet placed in the house. It was certainly dirty enough. He reached the hall, and soon his hand extended to turn the doorknob- 
> 
> It was too late. The shackle of Olga's claw was already around his ankle, and began to pull him away from the hacienda. He tried to push away with his other foot but to no avail. Now he could only anticipate the violence that was about to be vented. "What do you want?" he sobbed. 
> 
> "Obviously I didn't make myself clear to you last night," chastised the stocky girl. "When I told you to do my homework, I meant for you to do it _right_." 
> 
> "What-" He swallowed. "What do you mean?" 
> 
> She flung him to the ground with only a slight twitch of her wrist; his joints creaked in protest. "Three of the answers were wrong. A B! I got a B! You're supposed to be some kind of a super-genius-" she leaned into his face- "but you're nothing more than a rotten, ignorant, dorky, dead little brother." 
> 
> _I've never gotten a B on anything in my whole life before! No! This can't be true! _ But his initial shock at having gotten three questions wrong was overpowered by her last statement. "Dead?" 
> 
> The haunting smile made it clear what she meant, but the swift punch to the stomach solidified it. _I was tired. I couldn't concentrate. It's all that Dexter's fault! He keeps terrorising me from within my own mind!_ All those thoughts were dulled gradually, though, as the blows continued to come. 
> 
> ----- 
> 
> He studied the intricacies of his ceiling; the uneven spreading of the paint, the visible brush strokes, the cracks and chips and holes… _We were better off in Russia._ Well, maybe that wasn't entirely true. Before the Soviet Union's fall, an era he could barely remember, home was a posh penthouse in an elaborate socialist-style building overlooking the Volga River. His parents were both heads of their respective government departments, and at State School 590 he was the star. _Even Olga was nicer then._ He winced while trying to move his arm. But then the State collapsed, and while everyone else was free, the Nomenoffs and all other state officials were lucky to even be alive. 
> 
> _I guess we are better here,_ he conceded. Except for that Dexter! He had to change the future; he had to end it now! He began to soar from his bed… and crumpled to the floor. "Ow." 
> 
> Slowly he fought to stand up while incurring as little pain as possible. Perhaps there was something he could do… There, tossed haphazardly onto the cascade of books and papers and folders on his desk, were the notes he had taken in class that morning. Glaring directly at him was the three-dimensional cube. 
> 
> _Is that the answer?_ He swiped the paper away and darted for the closet, ignoring his body's throbs of protest. 
> 
> He scanned one aisle of the imposing, writhing black structures in his laboratory, then glanced down another. Where was that contraption? He knew just how to reset it; just what he needed to do. Curling dark silhouettes of various stations warranted no signs of the machine. He scurried to another sector. At the end of the row was a hoop fixed onto the base, made in the same monochromatic style as the rest of the chamber. "Yes…" 
> 
> Snapping his goggles onto his face, he approached the controls of the machine. _Just rewire a few cords, calibrate these settings properly… Perhaps half an hour's work, and I'll be set!_
> 
> "Your prescience will not prevail, Dexter," he incanted upon completing his tweakings, strapping the control watch to his wrist. "Time will be mine to do with as I please." 
> 
> He was fully aware that he was talking to no one but himself. None were ever around to appreciate his brilliance, his creativity, his application of science and mathematics, his diabolical laugh. But that had never stopped him from throwing his head back and cackling madly before. 
> 
> The machine stuttered at first with the painful sound of steel grating steel, but then crescendoed into a fantastic rotating buzz as its centrifuge spun. Whirling, gyrating, squealing to function… The view inside the hoop began to waver and distort. 
> 
> "Time machines only manipulate the fourth dimension to reach their desired destination in the third," Mandark declared, banging the lid to the command console shut. "But now I will actually control time." 
> 
> At the top of the staircase leading up to the ring, one foot in front of the other, he began to step through. 
> 
> ------------   
Constructive criticism is my best friend. No, really! And so is **Honoria Glossop** for beta reading this for me. ^_^ Chapter 2 is now up, so use the link above to go read it. 
> 
> **The Mandarkers Society [http://offcentre.net/mandark][1]**

   [1]: http://offcentre.net/mandark



	2. A Chosen Path

> **DIMENSIONAL TERROR   
Chapter Two: A Chosen Path**
> 
> This is part two of a ten-part story, which is designed to publish a new chapter every month, leading up to November 2001 when the new "Dexter's Laboratory" episodes finally premiere. The intent is to keep DL fans (and myself) interested in the show while we wait out the unending torment we must suffer until November.   
Things get even weirder here, but this chapter is pretty lack-lustre, if I may say so myself. Nonetheless it is vital to the story so read on and anticipate Chapter 3 (which will be considerably longer, and I guarantee it will be QUITE interesting). If you have any suggestions or criticism whatsoever on this story, then by all means write me a review. I'm very open and always eager to improve my works.   
**24.03.2001:** I've revised and rewritten parts of this chapter, and even added another scene. Tell me what you think.   
"Dexter's Laboratory" is © 1996 Hanna-Barbera Productions and Cartoon Network.   
------------ 
> 
> "Dee Dee, get out of my laboratory!" howled Dexter, throwing down his spanner. Storming towards his older sister's gargantuan form, he began waving his arms in hopes of chasing her off. "How many times do I have to tell you before you will leave?" 
> 
> Enormous blue eyes looked skyward, lost deep in what could only loosely be termed thought. "Umm… way too many?" 
> 
> "You got that right," he wistfully agreed. "Now leave, woman! I have no time for you today!" 
> 
> She blinked obliviously. 
> 
> He shoved against her gangly legs with all of his strength, but she would not be moved. "Please," he begged. "Away you go now!" She only turned, annoyed, and glared at her tiny brother far below her. 
> 
> "What is your problem, Dexter?" she demanded. "I'm just walking through your silly- Oh, what's that?" Plodding to a large workstation, she picked up a remote control and observed, "I've never seen this before!" 
> 
> With a weary sigh, Dexter shuffled over to where his sibling loomed. He just barely reached her knees, which were more like white-knit tree stumps to him, but vainly tried to assert some authority over her nonetheless. "Please, Dee Dee?" _Stupid girl! Is there no peace for the boy genius?_
> 
> A goofy grin adorning her face, she leaned down towards him. "I wanna see what it does." As if in slow motion she clicked the round button on top of the remote. 
> 
> "Activating," sang Computer, and the sound of generators warming up could be heard. 
> 
> "What's it doing, Dexter?" She turned her smiling head to Computer's screen and gave it an empty gaze. 
> 
> _Why must she always mess with my creations? Whatever did I ever do to her?_ "Look, Dee Dee, it is not yet completed. If you don't give me that remote or turn it off, something may crash up!" 
> 
> "Okay." She looked downcast. "But," she warned, smiling again, "you'll have to get it from me first!" Her shrill whinnying of laughter echoed throughout the laboratory as it mocked him once more. 
> 
> "No, Dee Dee, no!" She dangled the remote in front of him and he leaped up to retrieve it, but he was far too short. 
> 
> She repeated her giggle. "You can't get it, Dexter! You're too short!" After antagonising him for a few moments longer, she tossed the control to the floor and traipsed away, spinning and bounding through the air and singing to herself. 
> 
> "Stupid sister," he bemoaned, scooping the remote up and frantically pushing buttons on its front. "Come on, come on, please turn off!" 
> 
> "Deactivating interdimensional tracker," Computer proclaimed. 
> 
> Dexter wiped his brow. "That's a relief." He scrambled to his feet and started to replace all the things throughout the lab that Dee Dee had dislodged. "My idiotic sibling causes me so much grief and torment. I can't imagine what that overbearing jerk Mandark could possibly see in her!" When everything looked to be back in order, he returned to the half-assembled device he had been working on. 
> 
> "What are you doing, Dexter?" asked Computer. 
> 
> Dexter turned his head smugly, producing another wrench. "It's an interdimensional tracker," he explained, opening a compartment on a large cylindrical mechanism. "Mr. Luvinsky was telling us about the fourth dimension in class today, and- well, I think I figured out how I can improve my time machine." _This'll show Mandark who's really the greatest boy genius of them all. The nerve of him, thinking he can actually change the fact that I will always conquer him, no matter how far into the future he goes!_
> 
> "How do you intend to accomplish that?" 
> 
> "The tracker can pinpoint objects wherever they are in time or space, and lock in on them." He chortled. "Much better than that jumping around I did the other week!" _And I can use it as proof to Mandark that once again I was right and he was wrong._
> 
> Computer made no response. 
> 
> "What? Don't you think it'll work?" he demanded and ceased his labour. 
> 
> The screen flickered before answering. "I do not know, Dexter. There are many factors you may not be accounting for." 
> 
> Beginning to wrench again, he snorted, "Fear not, my dear. I believe I have everything under control." 
> 
> That Computer could doubt his genius even for one second- it was too much! He had already proven his ultimate superiority, especially over that obnoxious scum Mandark. The future had been placed before him, and showed him to be victorious. _Mandark is such an ignorant fool to think that the path of destiny could ever be altered! Just because I'm better than him…_
> 
> The spanner fell from his hands once more. 
> 
> "Computer!" he screeched. 
> 
> She came back to life. "Yes, Dexter?" 
> 
> "If I hadn't called you just now… do you think you would have still answered me? I mean-" He searched for a way to express the thought that had just struck him. "In the path of time, would you always be answering me at that moment, whether I called on you or not?" 
> 
> "That is not the way I am programmed." 
> 
> He sighed. "I'm just meaning hypothetically." 
> 
> There was a pause. "I do not know the answer to that, Dexter." 
> 
> "But if…" He scrunched up his face, trying to think. "What I'm trying to say, is that if the path of the future is already set, then any decision that I make will not affect what happens in my life, so even if I don't worry about doing the great things that I know I shall do, they will still get done and-" 
> 
> "What are you talking about, Dexter?" interrupted Computer. 
> 
> He picked the spanner back up and set to work. "Oh, forget it. Time travel hurts my brain." 
> 
> ----- 
> 
> Mandark crashed to the floor on the other side of the hoop, knocking his thick black glasses from his face. His body, still aching from the battering he had received earlier that afternoon, almost refused to let him stand up. Whilst squinting furiously he groped around for his glasses. "This doesn't look like the fourth dimension," he grunted. His hands fell across the plastic rims and he brought them to his eyes. 
> 
> The laboratory, demented and twisted already from its reconstruction after Dee Dee razed it months before, was now downright surreal. The corners of machines were not the termination of their planes; other sides, sides the eye would never see from such an angle, jumped at him vicariously and spread their segments out like a peacock fanning its tail. Faint trails of something he could not quite make out snaked through the columns like the condensation trails of jets. 
> 
> He brought himself to his feet- an act that took great effort, for the very air he breathed seemed to retain him and made movement a very slow, delicate process. Wading forward a few steps through the dense gaseous atmosphere, he turned to face the ring he had fallen through. Hanging in the fog were frames of his actions as he had fallen, each a glimpse as he had flailed through the air; thick facsimiles forever suspended. "What…?" 
> 
> Squinting harder at the cubist structures surrounding him, he could make out some other shapes- various yellows and reds and blues, done up in softer and cheerier forms than the current state of his laboratory. These figures were far more translucent than the multi-faceted ones he saw, but were present nonetheless. _My old lab!_ He stretched his arm to brush against one of the erstwhile consoles and- though he could feel the frigid steel against his skin- his hand passed right through the apparition. He shrieked and pulled his hand back; a blurry stream of images of his hand still remained. 
> 
> Instead of the subtle whistling of processors that always filled the atrium, there came a throaty wail that flooded the abstract scenery, seemingly the only aspect of reality not fully distorted by time. The sounds of his own breathing came hours after he exhaled and was more of a crystallisation within the hazy vapours. And yet he could detect no unusual gases, even with his vast knowledge of all things scientific... He fought through the unending visages of himself and inspected the lasting impressions of things in the laboratory long gone. 
> 
> Aside from his own trails that coated the floors, spectres of Olga were also highly prevalent, captured in various stages of dance and abuse. He could pick out at least five recent vignettes of her throttling and bashing him without mercy. But another figure, almost as faded as the holograms of his first laboratory at this home, seized his attention. Glorious blonde pigtails cascading around her, the likeness of Dee Dee was frozen in the midst of a twirl. The only time that goddess had ever entered his lab, she had destroyed it. But oh, how he loved her! He stopped in front of the ribbon of her images and gazed upon her in due reverence. The way she glowed with beauty and glory, and how she captured his darkened heart, shed the only light in life that he could find… He bowed his head and basked for a pensive moment. 
> 
> _Wait a minute…_ He sprinted to a quadrant of the laboratory that was relatively devoid of his impressions. Squinting real hard, he could distinguish three fuzzy strings of himself extending in front of him. He took a step down one of the paths of himself; that path became sharper, while the other two faded. Retracing his steps, he headed down the second trail. Now that one thickened and the other two began to dissipate. _Can it be?_
> 
> He darted to the centre of the empty field. "I am going to walk straight in front of me for five paces, then turn in a circle," he announced. Several images of him strung together spawned from the epicentre of where he stood, the most tangible of them being one doing exactly what he had stated he would do. He followed that one, his strides matching perfectly with the spectres. 
> 
> _Time is permeable._
> 
> If the conclusions he had made from the experiment were true, then the different paths he could take in his life were limited, but there were alternate paths nonetheless. So he had been mostly correct; to some extent he _could_ change the direction of the future as he saw fit. But those secondary ones… did they lead to alternate realities, perhaps; would they show him all the things that could be? Surely with his brilliance he could unlock countless secrets of time travel and predicting the course of the future and- 
> 
> _It is of no consequence. I've already proved the Dorkster wrong, to some degree, about predestination; now I can go back to the third dimension._ He strolled back towards the interdimensional portal, admiring the chaotic art forms his lab had been transformed into. The way he could see all sides of an object, and the lingering auras of things no longer there. 
> 
> One of his robots rolled past him, the repetitive string of images before it more clearly defined than the branch of trails in front of Mandark. _Probably because it's already on a set course, calculated by its internal mechanisms, with little possibility for deviation-_ "Hey, wait! Come back here!" he exclaimed, chasing after it. _Why, the nerve of it, not bowing to me when it passed! I've set them all to do that-_
> 
> He halted. _Maybe it can't see me._ He existed solely in the fourth dimension now; he could see all the dimensions below him, but they could not see ones higher than their level. _It's almost like being a ghost…_
> 
> And then he was struck with most a delightfully wicked idea. 
> 
> ----- 
> 
> The scratchy cassette tape bleated out chintzy piano music that washed over her dinky room and sank deep within her skin, but still she could not keep the beat. Something was irritating her from deep within and breaking her concentration. She studied herself in the mirror that covered one wall; her cylindrical body, chubby head, rounded feet; those awful black bangs and pigtails… 
> 
> "Damn it!" she screeched, and kicked the rickety table on which the tape deck sat. The deck slid off the table, dangling over the edge for a few seconds before the cord yanked out of the wall and it smashed onto the tile floor, sending the tape spinning to the other side of the room. "What's wrong with me?" 
> 
> She squared her shoulders and huffed at her reflection. Raising her arms above her head, she fell into first position, then gradually extended one leg in front of her. She swung it behind her and leaned forward. _Hold it, hold it…_ Her knee began to quiver beneath her. _Steady…_ Wobbling extensively, her ankle gave way, and she bounded back to both feet just short of crashing most shamefully to the floor. 
> 
> _It's because of my goddamn brother._ Demanding her attention from her desk along the opposite wall was the previous night's homework, forever scarred in red indelible ink with a big, fat B. He was supposed to be the science superstar, supposed to know everything there was to know. Was that ever a joke! That moron couldn't even get a date with that idiotic girl in their dance class! _…Well._ She and Dee Dee got along okay; could even be considered friends at times. But that didn't mean she wasn't dumber than a brick. 
> 
> _Dee Dee's brother, on the other hand…_
> 
> She beat her head against the mirror to banish the thought. That midget with the retarded phony accent was good for only one thing, and that was making _her_ brother look bad. And the only thing Mandark was good for was as a personal slave and punching bag. She balled her hand into a fist at the mere thought, and with another glance at the paper on her desktop. _As a matter of fact, I feel like using him as one right now._ She lumbered towards her door after savouring the thought of all the inscrutable pain she would cause him and stalked out into the corridor. 
> 
> The sounds of the attic fan ripped through the upstairs hallway. _Squeak, squeak_ went the boards under her feet. _This place sucks. I want to go back to Russia._ Glancing at the grimy window at the other end of the hall, she could see that the rain had started again in big fat drops that were slicing their way through the heavy October mist. _Great, I'll be stuck inside tomorrow, too._ The only plus to that were more opportunities to torment her brother. She continued towards his bedroom. 
> 
> A sudden chill came to her; made her shiver. She stopped and looked around. _Cheap drafty house._ But then it came again, and glimmers of- _some_thing, the flashes were to brief to make anything out of them- danced around her, swirling in a cacophony of transparent colours, choking her, drowning her. Memories jabbed into her head, and raw sentiments coursed through her every vein, all vying to burst free. 
> 
> "Oh, shit!" she shrieked- and once more, all was serene. Nothing moved, nothing sounded, and the hallway felt stuffy once more. _Good thing Mom and Dad aren't home yet. I don't need another lecture on my language._
> 
> Her hand at last came to rest on the brass doorknob to her sibling's bedroom, and she barreled inside. Some papers on his desk fluttered from the act of opening the door, but otherwise the room was lifeless and devoid of her human punching bag. She called "Mandark?" and inched towards his closet. 
> 
> The frigid breeze came again. 
> 
> "Mandark? I know you're in here!" At least, she hoped he was. For once she might actually be grateful for his company. 
> 
> But no answer came, and promptly the hallucinations swirled around her once more. They flooded through the bedroom, random images and colour spectrums dancing in a relentless procession across her face. Infinite voices shuffled themselves inside her brain and sang out taunting phrases, wordless cries that drew out anger and pain from her soul and screamed a blackness from within her, yearning to explode. 
> 
> For a moment she was blinded with rage and felt nothing but scalding hatred tear its way through her veins. The chaos began to ebb, though, and she staggered to the door. "Get out, get out!" she sobbed, not certain whether she was saying it to herself or to the demons in her own head. 
> 
> She crumbled into the deep-pile carpet of the hallway. Oh, how good it felt! Scratching at the yarn-like loops she struggled to pull herself away from Mandark's bedroom. The void in her mind subsided, and the world stabilized slowly; wordless thoughts were once more her own. _Thank God,_ she gasped, and paused to catch her breath. 
> 
> Gradually she stumbled back to her room and wrapped herself up in her bedcovers, far too shaken to attempt more ballet. 
> 
> ----- 
> 
> "Let's see," he said to himself, strutting around his room as repeated images of himself laid out before him like a royal red carpet, "what great scientific breakthroughs have I achieved today? I successfully entered the fourth dimension, I discovered that though there is a predetermined course of action for the future, it is not unpliable, and- oh, yes-" he grinned at the wave of trembling Olgas who flowed through the room and out the door, and the pervasive feeling of fear that hung like sweat on his skin as it slowly dissipated throughout the dimension of time. "I found substantial evidence that 'ghosts' are actually glimpses into the energy residue of the time-space continuum. A wall that is quite easy for me to permeate, as necessary. What a great scare!" He rubbed his hands together gleefully. "Let's see the Dorkster try to top that." 
> 
> It was true art, the way he could weaken the dimensional barriers just enough for Olga to see his suffering, hear his cries, feel his pain and torment that was left over from every time she had beaten him! Images weren't the only things that persisted in the fourth dimension. Near the visages of Dee Dee he could sense immense joy turn to abject terror as she began to ransack his first laboratory. The thrill of completing another invention, the disappointment of yet another failure, agony in Olga's clutches, tranquility at the thought of Dee Dee, but most prominent of all was one of the newer sentiments- pure depression and misery that veiled his rudimentary time machine, his desk, his bed… 
> 
> _But no more. It's not true, it's not true! I don't have to become that gluttonous hack!_ Now, though, he wished he could ask those possible future selves what made them into what they were. He needed to know what decisions to avoid… and what ones to make. _That one version of me was pretty cool, though._ He wouldn't mind being president of his own company and wearing classy suits every day. It would have been nice to get a chance to visit with himselves before having to face that ignorant Dexter. 
> 
> _I really can't see the future here. It's gratifying to know that it's not already set, but I wish I could see what possible things could happen…_ Looking at the ribbons of images before him, it was impossible to tell which were the past and which were the possible futures. And were there possible pasts he could retrace, and alter that which had already been done? 
> 
> It was all too much for even his superior intellect to comprehend! Perhaps it was time he returned to the world where time was only a passing bird who refused to glance back at wither he came, eternally migrating with no thought of where he might be headed or when he might leave. 
> 
> "But I don't _want_ to!" 
> 
> There was too much fun to be had here! Oh, the possibilities! The look on Olga's face as she fled had confirmed his success as a poltergeist. He could terrorise Dexter this way, watch his love undetected- maybe even sway her to his liking, if he arranged things just right. _I've got to get to their house right now!_ He flew down the staircase and towards the front door, images of himself spiraling in all directions as he went. 
> 
> ----- 
> 
> "That Dexter was a big meanie, wasn't he, Darby?" 
> 
> "Oh, yes!" replied the falsetto. "He's just a stupid mean little brother!" 
> 
> The girl clutching the plastic fashion doll grinned wickedly. "He should learn to share his inventions, shouldn't he?" 
> 
> The doll bobbed its head as she pushed on it with one finger. "Everyone should have fun in Dexter's lab." 
> 
> "Don't worry, Darby. We'll teach Dexter to share in a little bit." She flopped onto her back, blonde pigtails clinging to either side of her head, and studied the pale pink walls of her room. A poster of the Pony Puff Princess looked down at her with a comforting smile; sitting on the dresser beneath it was a framed photograph of herself with two of her closest friends. "Hi, Lee Lee. Hi, Mee Mee," she called to them softly, wishing they could come over. An infinite amount of stuffed animals spilled from one corner, and from another came the smell of rotting roses and decaying daisies, which were heaped most unceremoniously underneath a tiny photograph from her most recent dance recital. 
> 
> Letting Darby fall from her clutches, she bounded back up to her feet and pranced over to the corner. No need to glance at the tags on the bouquets; they all read the same. "'For Dee Dee, my eternal muse and inspiration. Love, Mandark'," she recited as she wrinkled her nose in disgust. That icky friend of her brother's- or whatever he was- was constantly following her around with an armful of flowers and candy and season passes to the ballet. It was as though he had a crush on her something! _Yuk!_ Still, she didn't mind all the attention, and he was cute in a little puppy-dog sort of way. _He even let me dance in his lab once! Mean old Dexter yells at me whenever I try to do that in_ his _stupid lab._ Once she even remembered playing in Dexter's time machine, and Dexter and Mandark were fighting over who got to press some big green button, and Dexter was mad at her for some reason because he wanted to push it, but Mandark was nice and let her push the button. "Boys are so silly!" 
> 
> She looked at the picture taped to the wall of herself and Mandark's sister Olga from their last dance recital. They were both in some big robots their brothers had made because they both wanted to have the solo. "Why can't Dexter and Mandark get along like Olga and I do?" They were nice and shared the solo, and then they went to the mall afterwards, and they got some milkshakes at the food court, and there was a big showcase going on and this man had some big machine thing and it had lots of buttons on it, and flashing lights, and buttons… and buttons… and… 
> 
> "I wanna press some buttons! Come on, Darby, let's go play in Dexter's lab!" She snatched the doll by the arm as she fled from her room and down the hall towards her brother's door. No one was in his messy bedroom. "Mom needs to make him clean this place up!" she announced. The bookshelf was raised up, revealing the blue grids of his laboratory. 
> 
> "Dexter?" she whispered into the empty space. "Dexter, are you in here?" She slowly placed one ballet slipper onto the tile floor. No alarms sounded, no lights flashed, and her brother didn't come flying out of nowhere to yell at her. "Dexter?" 
> 
> Receiving no answer, she made her way through the arches and towering structures of the chamber, till she stood once more before the big project Dexter had been working on earlier that afternoon. It was so shiny and pretty, and looked so complicated and easy to break! 
> 
> "Dee Dee, you know that you are not supposed to be inside Dexter's laboratory," Computer beeped, coming to life. 
> 
> "Leave me alone! I don't bother you about coming into Dexter's lab, do I?" 
> 
> Were Computer human, she undoubtedly would have sighed. "That is not the point, Dee Dee. Please do not touch the interdimensional tracker. It is not yet finished." 
> 
> But Dee Dee was not listening; her gaze was fixated on a large knob on the new machine's face. "Hey, what's that?" 
> 
> "I will not tell you that, Dee Dee. Please exit the laboratory." 
> 
> "If you won't tell me," she threatened, giving Computer the sweetest smile she could muster, "I'll have to figure it out for myself. Come on, Darby, don't you want to find out?" 
> 
> Afraid to watch, Computer self-activated her sleep mode and tried to block out the squealing and crashing and banging as her system gradually shut down. 
> 
> ----- 
> 
> "_Olga! Astro! Davaitye po-uzhinayem!_" came a muffled cry. 
> 
> She pulled the covers from her head and looked around. "Just a minute, Mom." _I see she's on another of her Russian kicks._ Eating dinner and sticking to tradition were among the least of her concerns, though. Her brother was nowhere to be found, and in his place was some hideous- _presence_. 
> 
> It felt like it had nearly made her burst, but still she wanted to find out what that force had been. The word _ghosts_ came to mind but she quickly shoved it aside. Now that she'd had time to think more rationally about what had happened to her- _whilst hiding under my covers like a freaking coward,_ she though sourly- the more likely it seemed that the presence was a result of some twisted experiment her idiot brother had botched. The pleasure she'd get from pummeling him for such an ignorant mistake was well worth risking the possibility that the presence might still be there. 
> 
> Nothing made itself known in the hallway, so she continued through is room and into the laboratory. Aside from one rattling piece of equipment, everything was silent. "Mandark?" When no answer came, she headed towards the loud machine. 
> 
> The structure had a broad base, and a ring was affixed to the top, steps in the base leading up to the hoop. A control console was set to one side of the stairs. Through the ring, things seemed very- melted was the only way she could think to describe it. The backdrop of the laboratory wavered around as though it were being reflected by a turbulent pool of water and all the dimensions on it were set wrong At certain points in its oscillations, she could see transparent visions of her brother. 
> 
> _Stupid brother. Poor, stupid Man-dork._
> 
> She approached the panel of buttons and knobs and levers. _This'll teach him._ She spun one of the dials labeled "Triggers" around and pushed on a lever to shift it from "Present" to "Alternate". A large button with the word "Random" printed on it also looked particularly inviting. 
> 
> "Just one more thing," she decided, and flicked another switch. Quite satisfied with herself, she returned to her room. 
> 
> ----- 
> 
> He continued his arduous trek down the street, the weight of the fourth dimension making every step a treacherous trial. "Almost… there…" he grunted. Soon, Dexter would be repaid for all the wrongs he had done Mandark in the past. 
> 
> He let the trail of his own images be his guide towards the house. They appeared to project his subconscious actions before him to better determine which path in the near future he intended to take. Sometimes, the trail even seemed to know he would do something before it occurred to him to do it. 
> 
> The images before him looked to falter and stumble. "Huh?" he started to ask, but then tripped over the curb. "That's not funny," he grumbled standing up and brushing himself off. A trickle of blood ran down his knee and he wiped it away with one finger. He looked back up to follow the trail once more, but saw that it was nowhere in sight. "And what is the meaning-" 
> 
> His cry was cut off as he felt his skin melting and stretching every which way. Colours swirled around him and he dripped through them and contorted, weaving through his own bones. 
> 
> The scream he tried to emit was suspended a million light years away. 
> 
> ------------   
Now that wasn't too painful, was it? I guarantee you that Chapter Three, **Heavens and Hells**, will be very VERY interesting, particularly if you're a Mandark/DeeDee-shipper, and will have its fair share of.... strangeness. *evil grins* Much thanks to **Honoria** and **Maggie**. You may be the only people who read my fics, but at least I know I'm not totally alone in my Mandarkness. ^_^; For you other people who might read this, write a stinkin' review already! I care not how scathing it is, as long as it tells me HOW I can improve. 
> 
> **The Mandarkers Society [http://offcentre.net/mandark][1]**

   [1]: http://offcentre.net/mandark



	3. Heavens and Hells

> **DIMENSIONAL TERROR   
Chapter Three: Heavens and Hells**
> 
> This is part three of a ten-part story, which is designed to publish a new chapter every month, leading up to November 2001 when the new "Dexter's Laboratory" episodes finally premiere. The intent is to keep DL fans (and myself) interested in the show while we wait out the unending torment we must suffer until November.   
Here it is, the long-awaited and much-hyped chapter three. I know I've promised some Mandark/Dee Dee-shipping and much weirdness and- well, there definitely is that. If one part gets too mushy for you to handle, skip on to the next section, and I guarantee it will be quite different. It's all to prove a point, nee? ^_^ There's a reason this part is much longer than the others thus far, and I _promise_ there will be much more of Dexter in the next part. It's a story, and stories require components!   
"Dexter's Laboratory" is © 1996 Hanna-Barbera Productions and Cartoon Network.   
------------ 
> 
> He could see nothing, not even the dimmest of outlines that always conjured themselves from the blackest nights. Absolute darkness stuffed into his eyes until he felt overwhelmingly nauseated. Blinking a few times, trying to clear his vision, produced no results. There was a faint sensation of walking, being drawn in some indefinite direction, but the rest of his senses had not yet caught up with him, and there was no certainty of what he felt or saw or heard, or even the damp vapours that steamed inside his mouth in anticipation of a chance to speak. Timidly he extended a hand in front of him to seek out a stationary object on which to steady himself, but instead brushed against some smooth fabric. He gasped and withdrew his hand. _Where am I?_ he whimpered. Something was clutching his arm, came the realisation, and the hairs on his neck began to prickle in consternation. Was he a prisoner of an interdimensional patrol force? Maybe Olga had found her way inside the fluxitator and was exacting her revenge. He shifted uncomfortably at the thought but continued his submissive march to whatever impending doom awaited him. 
> 
> "Hold on, dear. We're almost there." 
> 
> That soothing, mellifluous voice held such a familiar overtone to it… Where did he know that seraphic sound? It suddenly occurred to him that the "shackle" on his arm was only a steady hand guiding him on his trek, and he moistened his lips in relief. More aware of his movements now, he stumbled- his body seemed disproportionate and awkward to him; not at all like the motions he was used to making- but rejoiced in the comfort that some dimensional being was helping him along. Such kindness he had rarely known. "All right. You can look right about… now." 
> 
> Promptly something was lifted from his eyes and he could see- and indeed it was a sight to behold! On a round table before him burned burgundy candles set into lavish candleholders of silver that tossed the reflection of the flames onto the flecks in the granite tabletop. Two plates, steaming with sumptuous steaks, grilled vegetables, and a gooey yet enticing orange substance sat on either side of the cozy setting. A bouquet of crimson roses flourished to one side. "It looks delicious," he said, in awe. What else could he possibly say? 
> 
> "Thank you, love. I prepared it myself." The hand slid from his arm up to his shoulder, and touched lightly to his cheek. He twisted his neck to glance at the speaker- and nearly collapsed. 
> 
> Dressed in a black knee-length skirt, a neatly pressed button-down shirt of hot pink, a round onyx pendant and a diaphanous pink scarf that clung wispily to her throat was the most beautiful idolatress he had ever had the great pleasure to lay eyes on. Blonde pigtails extended subtly downward from the nape of her neck and wide, pale blue eyes gazed lovingly at him from behind black-rimmed frames. Though definitely aged and wisened, the beauty and joy that emanated from her was unmistakable. 
> 
> "Dee Dee!" he cried. 
> 
> She smiled and flung her slender arms around him, squeezing him tight. "Happy anniversary, sweetie!" she exclaimed. 
> 
> Placing a firm hand under her chin, he brought her face to his in a movement so slick it impressed even himself. _What's going on here?_ he tried to rationalise. Here was the girl of his dreams, right in his arms! How was he supposed to respond; should he pretend to know what she was talking about? _How did I get here anyway?_ But then, it certainly wasn't daily that Dee Dee threw herself at him like this. _What reason do I have_ not _to go along with it?_ "Happy anniversary, my love." They kissed only briefly, but it felt like thousands of needles pricking at his skin and grinding him into infinitesimal confetti pieces of bliss. _Oh, sweet rapture!_
> 
> "Go sit down," she suggested, "and I'll pour your wine." 
> 
> After seating himself in the curved velvet chair, he paused to absorb his surroundings. A sleek black kitchen faced him, with railings running up either side to what appeared to be a bedroom loft. To his right was an entertainment quarter overflowing with electronic equipment and various stylish pieces of art, most in black and white or the primary colours. The whole apartment, he concluded, was but one streamlined room divided neatly into quadrants, decorated in lush tones of khaki and plum and maroon and black. A window at the far wall of the entertainment area gave way to a nighttime metropolis raging with lights, though he could hear no city noises. Soft beeps alerted him to the presence of numerous inconspicuous devices scattered throughout the residence. 
> 
> At the sound of pouring liquid, he turned back to the small table where Dee Dee was filling his glass with vermilion wine. "Allow me to pour yours," he found himself saying, and she surrendered the bottle to him and took a seat. He emptied the flask with such diffidence, and not the clumsy manner he had feared he would, that even Dee Dee- _my wife,_ he corrected himself enthusiastically- looked surprised. 
> 
> "A toast," she proposed, lifting her goblet high, "to the Nomenoffs." 
> 
> The impeccable class their surname possessed when spoken by her sweet mouth overcame him, and he had to regain control of himself before raising his glass to hers. "Yes… to Astro and Dee Dee Nomenoff." They interlocked arms and drank from one another's glass. 
> 
> _This must be an alternate dimension,_ he reasoned. That much was obvious, given the circumstances of how he had arrived. But what incredible good fortune had he come across that permitted him to marry this unearthly siren? Was this what the future held for him now, instead of that sickening trauma he had suffered through a few weeks back? Hazy memories of life- nothing pivotal, but dim recollections of the trail that had brought him here- were slowly being dredged from his subconscious. A dreary college afternoon with rain soaking him to the bone as he sat under a tree, hours spent toiling away in a cubicle, a nightmarish event in the university's laboratory… There were beautiful instances with Dee Dee, too; evening soirees and midnight walks along the river, and countless trips to the Performing Arts Centre. _How can I make sure that this is the life I live?_
> 
> "Do you remember our wedding?" she asked, chewing on her steak. "You'd better!" He began to cut his own. 
> 
> "Of course," he grinned. "Your brother was pretty mad when I asked him to be the best man." _Where did that come from? What am I talking about?_ All the memories were still trying to catch up. 
> 
> She snickered. "You could tell he wanted to, but he had too much pride back then to admit things like that to you, or anyone else. One time when we were little, I was helping him with a science fair entry, and he was doing it wrong and I tried to tell him but he wouldn't believe me, and he lost to me for it. Nothing like how he is now- I'm glad he's learned to treat us with some respect! I mean, seeing as how you're his boss, and all." 
> 
> Mandark paused with the fork almost to his mouth. Somehow he _did_ remember all this. He turned to look at the wall to his left; in a black lacquered frame was a photograph of a wedding party inside a lavish Russian basilica. He and Dee Dee stood in the centre of the photo- _my word, that dress looks stunning on her_- in astonishingly ornate bridal attire. Olga was on the left holding Dee Dee's train, as were Dee Dee's girlfriends, Mee Mee and Lee Lee. Dexter in a tuxedo was standing next to Mandark, looking rather sour. 
> 
> "It was so beautiful," she reminisced. "The dresses and suits I designed, the church, the cake… and you, my dear. It's a shame they tore the church down a few months later, but government regulations are regulations…" 
> 
> He wasn't listening as a sensation of blushing touched his cheeks. "What divine intervention permitted me to marry you, my angel?" He _had_ to know. If there was a very real possibility for him to marry Dee Dee in the future, he had to make certain to take every precaution he could so life would indeed turn out this way! Though more memories were perpetually entering his mind, it was impossible to piece them into one coherent story. 
> 
> She laughed merrily, swirling the glass in her hand. "Don't be so silly." 
> 
> For the first time he could remember, a smile of true happiness came over him. "I'm serious, darling. Let me hear your side." 
> 
> "Well, you know…" Another giggle. "All of grade school, I could tell you kind of had a crush on me." _Kind of?_ he thought. "It was cute, but my interests were elsewhere back then. Once we got to college though…" He zoned out momentarily, noting how much she had matured since elementary school. Her words actually sounded orchestrated, instead of coming in random bursts of incoherence like the way she usually spoke. It was… different; whether it was an improvement or not, he couldn't decide. "I don't know what happened. You were more independent; less helpless around me. You'd defend yourself instead of letting me walk all over you." 
> 
> He smiled. "I suppose I had a bit of an epiphany when I nearly let your brother trick me into blowing up the science lab in exchange for getting me a date with you." _Where did_ that _come from?_ He rattled his head and ate some more steak. 
> 
> "That's when I really started to like you, yeah. But then I was afraid maybe you didn't feel that way for me anymore." She dropped her eyes. 
> 
> Rushing to swallow the food in his mouth, he found himself asking, "Is _that_ what you were wanting to talk to me about? During your last year of graduate school?" 
> 
> "You mean the rainy day? Yes. When the storm came up, I figured it was off and I'd discuss it with you some other time. But… well, after a while, I started to get worried. So I called Dexter and he said you'd been gone for two hours- and that he was getting more work done than he had all semestre, the dork- so I went out there and- well, you know the rest." Her hand reached across the table and came to rest on his. 
> 
> He blinked as a strange notion came to mind. "So if I hadn't waited-" 
> 
> "We've talked about this before. I knew you did still care, therefore I didn't need to spill my heart and walk away. Now go on, eat your dinner. Look, you haven't even touched your myudi sauce!" His eyes lowered to stare at the orange substance on his plate. "Go ahead," she coaxed, "it's all the rage in East Asian cuisine." 
> 
> The goo dripped from his fork when he tried scooping it up. "It looks… great, darling." He forced himself to swallow the bitter-tasting dish. Hastily he set the fork back on his plate and snatched the napkin from his lap, catching sight for the first time of his attire. _What's this?_ A white button-down collared shirt was layered underneath a soft grey sweater. Looking downwards, he saw black slacks laced with cream pinstripes and black Oxfords on his feet polished to perfection. _Hey,_ he mused, _I look pretty good._
> 
> _What_ are _you doing?_
> 
> He jumped and almost knocked the cutlery from his hands. _Wha- huh?_
> 
> _I am you. What are you doing here?_
> 
> Too unnerved to answer his own thoughts, he deftly stuffed some more of the myudi into his mouth and nearly gagged. 
> 
> "And what's your side of it, love?" Her actions were so full of grace- the way she sliced her meat and deposited it in her dainty mouth, and gazed into his eyes. He watched her, entranced by how she still radiated such youth after- after… well, however long it had been. 
> 
> _Eighteen,_ echoed a thought. 
> 
> _What?_
> 
> _Eighteen,_ he thought again, feeling more exasperated this time. 
> 
> He blinked. It wasn't as though he was talking in his mind to someone else- or even himself, for that matter- but rather that he held two conflicting ideas in his head at once. Each was spawned from two sets of memories and emotions and experiences, all fighting one another for dominance in his mind, struggling to be the only life he would remember. One insisted he was lost somewhere beyond the fourth dimension in perhaps an alternate future, while the other lambasted his childishness and filled him with three times the memories and thoughts. Only his present conscious, the internal voice of the here and now, was left with the task of trying to sort out one life for himself. 
> 
> "Um, Astro?" 
> 
> He gulped down the orange glop that had slowly been dribbling down his throat as he debated with himself. _Let me handle this._ "You know the story well. Since I left Russia at age eight you've been my inspiration and saviour. Of course, I was somewhat foolish about it back then." Mentally he scowled at that. He did not feel that he was actually saying the words, but they were formulating themselves and guiding him to remember more details of his alleged life. "Do you remember when I first immigrated and your brother tricked you into wrecking my childish lab?" 
> 
> "Vaguely," she sighed. "All the brilliant ideas of yours that were probably lost because of me… I was so out of control back then." 
> 
> He waved a hand. "Do not fret. Obviously your dancing back then has done you good." _Director of the Citysville Performing Arts Centre,_ the second voice boasted. 
> 
> Her face reddened again, and she shoveled some more steak into her mouth. "You're doing pretty well yourself, Mr. Bigshot CEO," she beamed around a mouth full of meat. 
> 
> His eyes bulged. _CEO? Me?_
> 
> "What a wonderful first year we've had," he reflected. 
> 
> Finishing off her plate, she let her pale gold wedding band and enormous diamond engagement ring sparkle in the candlelight as she held her hand out before her. "And may we have many more. Would you like your present now, dear?" 
> 
> He nodded eagerly. "But then it's my turn." 
> 
> "DM2873," she called, and a sleek robot of black steel approached. 
> 
> "Yes, Mistress Nomenoff?" The android's voice held no artificial quality to it whatsoever- only a smooth androgynous tone. Mandark stared at the servant in awe. He had designed thousands of robots in his life, but none half so impressive, so complex, and so streamlined as this one? Its body consisted of rounded cylinders, smoothed impeccably, with billions of compartments concealed along its sides that must serve a countless number of tasks. 
> 
> She leaned over the table's edge to address the short robot. "Bring me the anniversary gift for Master Nomenoff." As DM2873 rolled away, she turned to him with a playful smile. "I hope you'll like it." 
> 
> "I'm sure I will." Half closing his eyes, he pondered his predicament in the present world. Dee Dee as his wife? That alone made it a perfect utopia- but CEO of a large company as well? From the looks of their apartment, he- _they_- must be incredibly wealthy to afford so luxurious a place of residence! Was all of the world like this? All the furnishings and appliances and even the very rooms themselves were so smooth and rounded. Surely Dee Dee herself had decorated the space; he felt like such a fat cat, a glorious sybarite, lounging in the hinterlands of perfection with the deliriously gorgeous muse by his side. 
> 
> The glistening robot rolled back to the table and handed a square box to Dee Dee with its spindly steel arms. "The present you requested, Mistress Nomenoff." 
> 
> "Thank you, DM2873. You are dismissed." The servant scurried away. "Happy anniversary, darling." 
> 
> As a huge grin overtook her face she slid the box to him; it was wrapped in thick cream-coloured paper and adorned with a velvety crimson bow. All he could do was stare at it in abject amazement. _Dee Dee's never given me anything before in my life._
> 
> _Don't be stupid! Just open it!_ He picked it up, a little apprehensive at its unexpected weight, and began to cinch the ribbon from the box in a very meticulous manner. Peeling the paper off, he shimmied the polished metal box from its wrappings and flipped the lid open. "Oh, Dee Dee…" 
> 
> "Go on, take them out." 
> 
> Two large gold cufflinks glinted at him from amongst their cotton packing. Emblazoned on each diamond-shaped face was a black M. _I've seen these somewhere before._ He rotated them slowly, letting the light glint off their surfaces. Then a wave of images from one of his minds bombarded him, horrifying glimpses of his encounter with Dexter a few weeks back. _No! It can't be!_
> 
> "Well?" she asked expectantly. 
> 
> "Oh, honey…" He quivered. "They're perfect." _I_ can't _become that monster! I can't!_
> 
> "Then try them on, silly!" He cringed, but rolled up the sleeves of the grey sweater and fastened the cufflinks onto the white dress shirt beneath. They shined at him and hung heavily on his wrists as a constant reminder of what he still could become. 
> 
> "They're wonderful. Thank you." He began to stand up. 
> 
> Her glare, however, quickly changed his mind. "_Sit down!_" Then she once more was smiling. "There's more." 
> 
> _More?_ he shuddered, taking his seat again. _What more reminder of that nightmare do I need?_ He lifted the layer of cotton from the box. A large lump of lacquered black metal sat on the bottom, and he pulled it out. "A pocket watch?" The lid was engraved with an intricate swirling pattern of spikes and vines and spirals, all twisting around a giant M in archaic lettering in the centre of the circle. He opened the watch to see the white face with black gothic type inside. 
> 
> "I designed the lid myself," she explained, and he turned to gape at her in awe. "I just took it to Jim and had him cast it for me. He's the only jeweller in the city that still does his craft by hand, you know." 
> 
> "Yeah, and I'm afraid they're going to get him for that soon," he sighed. _What am I_ talking _about? I'm making less sense than her moronic brother usually does._
> 
> She nodded sadly. "Poor Jim. But I'm more worried about you." 
> 
> "Fear not, my precious angel. So long as I keep researching and developing for them, they wouldn't touch me." 
> 
> "I certainly hope so." She looked somewhat dubious of his assurances. Oh, how he hated to see those big blue eyes look so sad! 
> 
> He rose and strolled over to the other side of the table. "Thank you. They're wonderful." He leaned and kissed her pale cheek. One part of him sill felt such a thrill at finally being able to place his lips on so sacred a being, while another saw it as merely a commonplace occurrence in their relationship. "And now for your present, my love." 
> 
> Grabbing the black handkerchief she had earlier used as a blindfold on him, he tied it loosely around her glasses. "No peeking! Now stand up; I'll guide you there." She giggled and leaped from her seat to hook onto his arm. He swiveled his head and gazed upon the woman. _This can't be true._ He led her towards the staircase to the loft, just letting his feet guide the direction, though for the most part he had no idea where he was headed or what the present was supposed to be. _I sure hope I know what I'm doing._
> 
> "So, what is it?" she cried giddily as they reached the steps. 
> 
> He studied the stairs before him; this wasn't going to work if he intended to keep from breaking her neck. "You know I can't tell you that yet. Here, let me carry you." 
> 
> "Okay!" She jumped into his arms rather unexpectedly, and though he faltered, he regained his balance and pulled her body close. _I'm holding her in my arms…_ A peculiar instinct rippled through him, and for a moment he thought he might faint. 
> 
> Wobbling, he placed a foot on the first step. _You idiot, you just put one foot in front of the other and walk!_ And yet he was paralysed with fear, for her carried such precious cargo; everything that had ever given light and hope and beauty in his life was contained in his arms… 
> 
> _Oh, get over it already. She's your wife._ He bolted up the flight of stairs and set her back down. 
> 
> "An archaic tradition states that on a couple's first wedding anniversary they should give each other gifts of paper," he expostulated, guiding her towards a shelf near the bed in the loft. "But paper is almost impossible to find nowadays, so this was the best I could do." He pulled a lever on the wall and a partition extended, a large framed painting being revealed that was set into the segment. Grinning coyly, he slipped her blindfold off. 
> 
> She squealed at the sight of the large piece of artwork, which was more a collage of abstract sketches and nouveau curling portraits of Dee Dee and himself, inked in thick black. He only appeared in two of the vignettes; she was of course the subject of the minimalist work. The whole collection was set on a background that brought to mind his second childhood laboratory. "Who'd you get to do this?" 
> 
> "Peter, of course. I came up with the concept and worked with him on it." There was a distant feeling of speaking without actually thinking the words again- they just coagulated on their own inside his mouth. _Oh well, it's probably for the best- otherwise I don't know what I'm supposed to be saying! Peter who?_
> 
> After studying the piece for a few seconds and leaning on his arm she said, "Peter Marceaux? He didn't mention anything about it to me!" 
> 
> "Of course he didn't, my sweet," he chuckled. "That's because it's a surprise." 
> 
> She threw her arms around his shoulders; she was nearly as tall as he was now, he noted. "Thank you," she murmured, and continued to hold him close. Her soft eyelids closed and her lips began to approach him, her nose pressing against his. _Please, oh, please,_ he begged, _don't let Olga end this, too!_
> 
> It came like an electric shock and nearly sent him staggering backwards, head swarming with the power of dozens of memories that came soaring in and out of his conscious. A fierce passion tore at him relentlessly with the scent of a delicate orchid trembling in an early frost; he was overwhelmed with the glee of fulfilling his lifelong desire. To kiss those heavenly lips…! He looped his arms around her waist and held tight. 
> 
> "Breaking news. The leader of Moskovia has been assassinated-" 
> 
> "Ooh, that damn thing! I forgot to put it on DND!" Dee Dee yanked away from him and stomped down the stairs. "Honestly, I know it's useful for informing the State of important events even when it's turned off, and I like it when I want to watch my shows, but all they ever talk about is Moskovia! Every hour, it has to turn on with more news!" He leaned over the railing and watch her approach a large screen set into the wall and surrounded by a metal plate. Buttons filled one side of the screen; a green light shone brightly on the other side. She punched one of the buttons. "There, that should do. Unless it's Level 3 news, of course." She threw her hands up in disgust. He had never seen her anything but cheerful before, always traipsing carefree through the halls of school, a perpetual gracious smile on her face even as she tormented Dexter. But now he realised that even when she got angry, she was adorable. "Honestly, dear, why do you have to manufacture such filthy things?" 
> 
> "So I can buy you everything your heart desires, beautiful," was his automated response. Arm shaking, he clutched the rail and eased his way down the stairs. Whether he was shaking from the kiss or from the sudden awareness of the vile screen, he didn't know. _Moskovia…_ Yes, there was something about that somewhere in the back of his mind, but it was too buried by the cluttered false memories to dislodge. 
> 
> He stood before the screen in awe. It was taller than he was! It was of technology far more advanced than anything he knew back home, the display infinitely crisper than liquid crystalline. At once it was both impressive and terrifying. Engraved into the very bottom of the plate was a logo reading "M Industries". "I'm… sorry?" he squeaked. It was masterful technology, granted… 
> 
> "Don't worry. I know government specifications are to be obeyed. I'm just grateful you installed the lights on ours so we can tell when they've turned it on us." She took his hand and squeezed it. "You're so sneaky." 
> 
> A bewildered half-grin manifested on his face. 
> 
> Something on the wall space next to the screen caught his eye; a framed magazine cover- though it was shaped more like a disk of some sort- that looked to be only a few months old. It was titled "Urban Citysville Weekly" and featured a big portrait of Dee Dee on the cover. "Interview with Dee Dee Nomenoff," read the caption, "Voted Citysville's Woman of the Year by Urban Weekly Readers." 
> 
> "Call for Master and Mistress Nomenoff from their siblings," came a robot's voice. 
> 
> "Wouldn't you know it," she grumbled, and punched a few more buttons on the set. "Accept," she yelled back at the computer. 
> 
> The screen flickered, then showed a view of a considerably less affluent apartment, a very geometric zone with little decoration. Two figures came into focus, one a slender, squirrelly-looking man with fluffy orange hair and thick glasses hanging off his pale nose. He was hunched over a somewhat chubby woman of medium height with straight black hair pulled back into a bun. She wore a business suit that consisted of a lavender skirt and jacket over a white shirt, while he wore black pants and a white lab coat. "Happy anniversary!" their sniveling voices rang out, making it sound more like they were whining. 
> 
> "Uh," Dee Dee stuttered, "thanks." 
> 
> Mandark blinked, dumbfounded. "Dexter?" 
> 
> "Y-y-yes?" whimpered the scrawny man. 
> 
> "How have you been?" Then he was surprised to hear himself say, "I haven't run into you at the office lately." 
> 
> Dexter sniffled. "Oh, just fine. I've been busy." 
> 
> "We have something important to tell you," the woman interrupted. _Oh, please tell me that's not who I think it is._
> 
> "Oh," Dee Dee said flatly, still looking rather irritated at the intrusion. "What's that?" 
> 
> A cheesy grin overcame Dexter's face, and he looked at the woman and took her hand in his own. "Olga and I are engaged, as of last Thursday." 
> 
> It was her, it was! His rotten sister engaged to his worst enemy? He craned his neck to look at Dee Dee, and they raised perplexed eyebrows at one another. "That's great," she finally said, and Mandark murmured an agreement. 
> 
> "Well, we don't want to keep you long, but we wanted to know-" She snorted. "If you'd be in the ceremony." 
> 
> "I'd be more than honoured to have the company president as my best man," Dexter added whilst sniffling. He had certainly changed a lot since a year ago, when the wedding photo was taken. 
> 
> Dee Dee looked at Mandark dubiously. "Of course we will. Now if you'll excuse us, we have to get going. Dinner reservations." 
> 
> The two on the screen snickered, spit flying everywhere. Dexter pushed his glasses up on his nose. "Oh boy, you and your fancy restaurants. Olga and I wondered if you could recommend a nice place-" 
> 
> "That's nice. Talk to you later! Bye!" She turned the screen off as fast as she could. "Aren't they creepy?" 
> 
> Still dazed by the frightening possibilities he had just been presented with, he could make no response. He shook his head to clear his thoughts of the unsettling visages. Then sudden inspiration overcame him; in a swift arc he snatched her hand and spun her around till she was bent over backwards. He pressed his face towards hers; inhaled the sweet vapours of her skin. "My lady love," he purred, "would you care to dance?" 
> 
> "What a silly question," she giggled, nuzzling his cheek. "But first," she cried, leaping back to her feet, "you have to catch me!" 
> 
> _That's definitely the Dee Dee I know,_ he swooned. Straightening his collar and smirking to himself, he called to the robots. "Make certain we are not disturbed for the remainder of the evening. I don't care who calls!" 
> 
> "Yes, Master Nomenoff." 
> 
> He surveyed the apartment; tried not to get too distracted by the luxurious feel of it all. His eyes passed through the black kitchen and the dining table, which appeared to have been cleared by the robotic servants; the inviting plum couch… Shrill twittered could be heard, and a blonde scalp bobbed from behind the sofa He crept up and pounced onto the cushions, hands fumbling for her shoulders where she sat in back of the couch. "Got you," he whispered. She laughed and twirled to kiss him on the nose. 
> 
> "Very well," she ceded, then stood up and walked around the sofa. "Let's dance!" 
> 
> Breezy jazz music flooded the room; she tangled her arms around his shoulders and buried her face into his neck. He started to go weak in the knees as he pulled her close. _I spend years trying to get close enough to even touch this sacred goddess and all I really had to do is- wait, what did she say I did to get here again? Well, whatever it is, it can't be too hard. I am the smartest genius this world has ever known, after all._ He smiled and kissed her shining hair, a tropical scent lingering on his parched lips. _Don't ever let this end!_ He let his hands- so much stronger than those he was stronger than those he was used to- tighten around her waist so that she may never slip away. 
> 
> "Do you remember the first time we ever danced?" he asked her, their feet flawlessly moving across the hardwood floors. He could feel his nonage slipping away the longer he held her close; the matured memory was taking over and making the age of nine a frozen memory. It became less awkward to be so intimate with his idolatress, though no less enjoyable. At least five years had passed since they had begun dating, he was sure. But how…? _No, it's best to not question those small favours I am granted in life._
> 
> "Yeah. You and that silly laboratory." Her twinkling eyes rolled up towards head with a malicious grin. _Silly? What? I'll show her-_
> 
> _Oh, get over it. You're wasting time._ There was that patronising older voice again. 
> 
> The music clicked over to a rapid swing number, and she gripped his forearms and spun him around. Initially his eyes widened in horror, but as they continued to spin, he took note of her deliriously joyful expression, so he tried to relax and cherish the moment. _How long do I get to stay here?_ One evening of this was all the heaven he needed in life, but seeing as he could find no way to get back to- well, whatever this sanctuary wasn't- he figured it wouldn't hurt to wallow in the glory of _this_ a little longer. 
> 
> More framed magazine covers- oddly shaped ones, he observed- whirled past as they continued their romp about the living room. Either his profile or Dee Dee's was plastered to the front, if not both. It… it scared him. _This is too perfect._ As she spun, he caught her by the wrist and dipped her back over his arm, just like he'd seen in films. _Now what?_
> 
> _You imbecile, let me show you how it's done. Obviously your sad youth and delusional belief of intellectual superiority has left you somewhat… inexperienced._ All right, so maybe his older self was getting a little annoying. _Oh, just shut up and watch a master at work._
> 
> He slowly brought the back of her hand to his lips, then paused to inhale her fragrant skin. _My word, what an angel has fallen into my life!_ Proceeding up her arm, she giggled, "You're acting like a kid again!" 
> 
> "Is that so bad?" he cooed into her ear. 
> 
> "Of course not." She reached out and yanked his head towards hers, fingers wrapping themselves into his hair and palms resting behind his ears. Once again he felt electrocuted by her kiss; shocked that it came so natural a motion to him, and enchanted by the delicate way she executed it- though he expected no less from her perfect being. She tasted of the syrupy red wine but it came as a very soothing sensation that washed through him and cleansed him and gave the feeling that his soul was rolling around inside of him. 
> 
> Without total consciousness of what he was doing he lowered her so that she was sitting on the couch and he perched next to her, ever leaning closer. _Dee Dee. This is_ my _Dee Dee, the goddess I have always loved!_ Every night of his nine-year old life he had dreamed of the moment they would finally kiss, fantasised about it every time he saw her in the hallways of school, and daydreamed of it in class whenever he wasn't busy outsmarting her brother. It was almost… _wrong_ that so soon he should experience such immense pleasure. _Almost._
> 
> He placed a hand on either side of her neck, gently tilting her face towards his, then gradually let them slide down to her shoulders. Her eyes looked into his own, reflecting her adoration for him and complete trust. She held the gaze, then kissed him tantalisingly once more. He leaned towards her with a sly grin. _This is better than in the movies! This_ must _be the life I lead, it must! How can I ensure it?_
> 
> _Trust me,_ he assured himself, _it only gets better._
> 
> Their lips met again, and he tightened his grip on her shoulders. Savour the taste, the feel, the smell... He felt sure he would drown from all the happiness building within him! As he closed his eyes he sensed her hands upon his waist… 
> 
> "Come get me!" she squealed, wiggling out from beneath him and dashing from the couch. She kicked her black shoes off as she trotted from the living room, and they skidded across the wood floors before crashing into granite pillars that stood randomly placed in the space between the kitchen and the stairs to the loft. 
> 
> Clamoring to his feet, he took the shorter route around the other side of the sofa towards the staircase. She paused during intervals of her ascent to turn and make faces at him. "Ooh, come back here!" came his cry. "I'll get you yet!" 
> 
> And at last, at the crest of the stairs, he did. He pounced on her, and her white tights easily sent them sliding across the polished wood floor and they crashed into the steel railing that overlooked the living room. They laughed for a moment, Dee Dee seeming to have momentarily forgotten about the pursuit. While she was distracted he crooked an arm around her waist. 
> 
> "Got you!" 
> 
> "Yep," she shrugged. "You sure did." Straightening her glasses, she began to saunter off. 
> 
> _Hey, wait a minute! Don't I get another kiss?_ He pouted. _I really like kissing._ Perhaps he could try to kiss Dee Dee back in his world- not that he really wanted to go back. 
> 
> Dee Dee had positioned herself between the painting and their bed, and was scrutinising the intricacies of Marceaux's artwork. "You did an excellent job of designing this with Peter, darling. But- what's this? Come here!" 
> 
> He approached her with trepidation. "What's what?" 
> 
> With one hand, she flung the glasses from her face and onto the silvery nightstand nearby. With the other, she grabbed his arm and wrenched him around, crashing him onto the poofy mattress. "I got you back!" echoed her shout of victory. "I got you back, I got you back, I got you back!" 
> 
> He blinked a few times, a little flustered. Then his more refined instincts kicked in. He reached up and pulled her down next to him and pinned her with one arm as she gave a yelp of surprise. With the other hand he stroked her porcelain cheek. "Now I've got you for good." 
> 
> A fragile smile graced her mouth as he drew her close. Snuggling her nose into his neck, she conceded, "You always will, my love." _Oh, please let it be so._
> 
> The apartment was silent; he could hear only the clean sounds of her breathing. Gently lifting her face to his, he kissed her slowly and reveled in the euphoric tingle once more. Something was different in it this time, though; a new sensation had seized him and he felt his heart begin to pound. He kissed her neck, kissed her collarbone… 
> 
> _What am I doing?_ he gasped, realising his hand was resting on the top button of her pink blouse, running the edge of it underneath his fingernails. 
> 
> _You'll see._ He kissed her throat once more and felt her hands encircle his waist. 
> 
> His eyes bulged. _Oh, no. We can't do that!_
> 
> _Sure we can._
> 
> He cringed, but couldn't keep from kissing her pale neck. _But I'm only nine years old!_
> 
> _No, I'm not. I'm twenty-seven. I'm married to her, for goodness sake! You have absolutely no grounds to complain!_
> 
> _Oh,_ he mused, a sly grin coming to his face as he felt the last button slide through his fingers, _I'm not complaining._
> 
> Too groggy to recall where he was or why, he rolled over and tried to pull the sheets tighter around him. _These are not my flannel sheets._ His eyes opened. Insufficient lighting made it nearly impossible to see where he was, but he knew for sure that it wasn't his cramped bedroom. _Where am I-_
> 
> _Oh._
> 
> He sat up in the rumpled bed, its pristine sheets of white linen cascading around him. To his left was a very large painting sticking out of a compartment in the wall, and a few feet beyond the foot of the bed was a railing looking over a huge room decorated in shades of plum and burgundy and khaki and black. One solitary window gazed out at a cloudy metropolis. 
> 
> _I'm still here._ He remembered one of his last conscious thoughts before falling asleep being a concern that once he awoke, he would no longer be in this alternate dimension. _I could gladly stay here forever._ The previous night was returning to him; the most beautiful evening with Dee Dee and the powerful relationship they shared. She was so… angelic was the only word that came to mind. He envisioned her touch and the way she kissed him, how they had danced, and most shocking of all… 
> 
> _I can't believe I_ did _that._ It was nothing like what he had expected from the scientific textbooks that he had read. His years of smothering his affections for her had been released. _I'm more in love with her than I already was._
> 
> He turned to give the goddess a wake-up kiss but found her side of the bed was empty. "Dee Dee?" he cried. Grabbing a pair of briefs from a nearby chair, he hopped into them as he looked over the railing to the living room below. "Dee Dee, where are you?" He turned to look though the bedroom loft again, and noticed a doorway on the other side of the bed. When he scampered over to the doorway, he found himself in a silvery bathroom. 
> 
> "Dee Dee?" A sink was set on the wall opposite him, underneath a rectangular mirror. Faint sounds of running water could be heard from behind a metal door on one side. _Oh, she's in the shower._ He blushed and backed out of the bathroom. 
> 
> "What shall I wear today?" His hand intuitively went to a button on the wall, and a compartment sprung out before him filled with sweaters and blouses and shirts and skirts and neatly-pressed pants. Everything pink was obviously Dee Dee's; he shuffled through it and found himself a mauve sweater and a white shirt to wear with grey pants. _Now I'm really classy,_ he grinned. 
> 
> He sauntered down the staircase on bare feet and made his way to the breakfast table. A bowl of some sort of thick stew-like liquid was in his place, and lying next to it was an electronic device that looked like it might be a personal planner. 
> 
> He took his seat before the bowl and picked the planner up. Its screen was amazingly clear and large, and in sharp colours. Drawn on the screen were swirls and hearts, decorating the carefully lettered words "I love you". He clutched the planner to his chest and sighed. 
> 
> "I see you found the breakfast Mistress Nomenoff prepared for you." He jumped at the voice; spun in his chair. A thin metallic arm deposited a card on the table. "Your daily Citysville Journal, Master Nomenoff." 
> 
> "Why, thank you." He nodded, and the droid rolled away. 
> 
> Some rudimentary instinct told him to insert the card into the back of the electronic planner, so he did. A programme arranged like a newspaper appeared. "'Moskovia Leader Assassinated- Again'," he read. Why did that name sound so familiar? He continued to flip through the sections. Sports, Fashion, Society… 
> 
> "'Are the Nomenoffs Too Powerful'? What?" A caricature of himself and Dee Dee sitting on thrones with buildings and peasants stacked beneath the chairs appeared to the side. "'Though investors have had their eyes on Astro Nomenoff- or shall we call him Mandark?- since he was raised to VP of what was then Huber Industries and Scientific at age twenty-five, he has become a highly noteworthy figure throughout the State. He came to own and run what is now M Industries and Scientific just four months ago, after the highly suspicious resignation of former CEO Jim Novak. But let us not forget the other half of this ubiquitous couple's foundations in our fair Citysville. Appointed director of the Arts Council seven months back, Dee Dee-' Oh, this is total drivel." He dropped the planner in disgust. 
> 
> Scooping up a spoonful of the liquid, he let it dribble down the sides of the spoon. "No offence, love," he whispered to himself, "but I'm not really hungry." He trotted back up to the loft and reentered the bathroom. 
> 
> There was a slight shadow on his face, he noticed as he studied himself in the mirror, and he rubbed his cheek to find it rough with stubble. His hand went for a razor that sat on a small shelf over the sink. _No way! I'm not even going to try._ But despite his protests he found himself lathering up. The razor blade glinted in the harsh lighting. He took one stroke down his right cheek… 
> 
> _Hey, that didn't hurt at all!_ He examined his cheek in the mirror for any signs of bleeding. "This isn't so difficult as I thought." He swiped once more, and then again, the right side of his face quickly being cleared away. "I can handle this-" 
> 
> The blade snagged on a patch of stubble, and he felt his skin cracking. Throwing the razor into the sink, he howled in agony, and clutched his cheek. "Blast you!" After whimpering for a moment he pulled his hand away and noted a few drops of blood on his finger. "Great. Now I'll go to work looking like I've been butchered," he whined. The minor wound was visible in his reflection and he wiped some more of the blood away with his finger, then stuck it in his mouth and let the bitter iron taste soak through him. _Forget this! I'm growing a beard._
> 
> He opened his eyes back up and looked to his reflection. It began to oscillate and swirl, and promptly he felt dizzy, felt himself become a free-floating object in time and space, melting and stretching in every direction. _No! Please don't make me leave here!_ Everything faded into the dank ghost of time, and all he could hear was the sound of the shower. 
> 
> -----   
A ceaseless stream of numbers ran before his eyes in a doomed parade across an endless screen. He lifted his head from the desktop on which it rested and rubbed at his eyes. This world was hazy, misty; an intangible quality clung to the surroundings as though they could waver and vanish at any moment. Still, the room was dark, stuffed with computer panels and cords that flowed over desks and tables and snaked against the metallic walls and floor. The chair beneath him screeched tormentedly as he swiveled the seat to look around. A doorway set into the far end of the chamber caught his eye, light coming from behind it though it was partially closed. He tried to stand to move for it but was jerked back by the wrist and he fell again into the chair. _I'm handcuffed to the desk!_ he noted, appalled, upon seeing the shackle on his right hand. 
> 
> "Where are you going, my dear?" chided a graceful voice. He spun to see the back of her head, two blonde braids growing from underneath a black hat. 
> 
> "Oh, Dee Dee," he sighed with relief. _Thank goodness she's here._ She turned to face him in a slow, calculated twist. 
> 
> He screamed. 
> 
> Indeed, she wore her silky hair in two braids under a shiny black cap, tied off in satiny black ribbons. Thick dark eyeliner coated her eyes, and black lipstick covered her lips. A spiky collar hung around her neck, and what seemed to be a vinyl corset was cinched eye-poppingly tight around her torso- that warranted a second look from him. A black-and very short- hung from her hips. Beyond that, her legs descended into the shadows, but he guessed those were knee-high boots that he saw. In one hand she wielded a bullwhip. 
> 
> "That is not the name to address me by, fool!" she snapped. "I am Dee Mentia!" 
> 
> He cringed and nodded acknowledgment. 
> 
> "Now, my _slave_, how are the calculations coming? Are we nearing preparation?" 
> 
> He blinked; glanced to the computer screen, then turned back. "Of course… umm… Mistress Dee Mentia. I've almost completed the rerouting of the data." 
> 
> Her eyes narrowed and a wicked grin overtook her face. "That's fabulous, darling. I'm so proud of you." She bent over to his level and pressed her face towards his and he tried not to cast his eyes down. "But of course- I wouldn't expect you to _fail_ me," she hissed. 
> 
> Swallowing audibly, he shrank back from her gaze, but she flung her arms around his neck and swung her lithe figure into his lap, stretching across his legs and dangling her booted feet in the air. She brought one hand to his head, and let a black-lacquered fingernail wrap around his short hair. "You are so… _pathetic_," she remarked. "That's why I love you. That's why I love…" She dug her nails forcefully into his scalp. "To _hurt_ you." 
> 
> He whimpered in pain but dared not open his mouth. 
> 
> "You've always let me have such power over you," she continued, removing her hands form his hair and instead running her fingers across the fat braids of the whip. "You never could stand up to me; it never occurred to you in all your supposed intelligence, hmm?" She coiled the whip around his throat and held it taut. "Defy me. Go on, just try." 
> 
> _Never stood up to her? But in the last place I visited, she said she admired me for-_
> 
> _What are you babbling about, you imbecile! Do what Mistress says! Obey her command and defy her!_
> 
> He felt the fibres of the whip digging into his skin. 
> 
> "Well?" she asked. 
> 
> Timidly, he gasped, "I defy you." 
> 
> She loosened the cord with a wicked laugh that rattled his teeth. "See? Such power I have over you that even when you try to defy me, it is only obeying orders!" She stroked his cheek. "How I love you and the control you give me. You worthless, hopeless, trapped little creature." 
> 
> _Must obey the Mistress. Must obey the Mistress._
> 
> _What are you talking about?_
> 
> _Must obey the Mistress._
> 
> Holding his head firmly between her hands, she thrust her lips toward his, and kissed him in a rough and painful fit. _This is nothing like that last place… where are these places anyway? These have got to be alternate realities._ Her nails clawed at his neck as she pressed against his face harder and harder. At last she pulled away. 
> 
> "What the-" 
> 
> She held one finger to his lips and instantly he fell silent. A smirk grew from her charred mouth, and she traced the edge of her fingernail down his chin, his throat, his chest… For the first time, he glanced down and noticed the black muscle shirt clinging to his scrawny form and leather pants in which he was dressed. "Get back to work; you're almost done for the day." She stood back up form his lap, the short skirt flipping dangerously high. "How am I supposed to take over the world if you don't do it for me? Go on, and maybe I'll give you a treat later." She winked and pranced from the chamber, slamming the door behind her. 
> 
> "Treat? I am not her puppy dog! I'm the greatest genius this world has ever known!" he cried. 
> 
> The numbers on the screen blinked again and he turned his eyes to them with despair. _I don't even know what I'm supposed to do._ He traced the scars and bruises running up and down his arms and chest. _I can't be much older than in that last place. What happened to make me into this pathetic mess?_
> 
> _Must obey the Mistress. Must obey the Mistress._
> 
> _Oh, shut UP!_
> 
> He tried to look at the room more objectively than his initial gathering. Everything was so filmy, despite the darkness, ready to deteriorate into nothing at a moment's notice. One thing he could be sure of, fortunately, was that it wasn't a direct future- he hoped, anyway- because his romp in the fourth dimension before any of this started had proved no such thing could exist. Was this another of the paths that could be? _Just like that last one… oh, that sweet heaven._ He sighed wistfully. _How was it that she was so sublime and saintly there, and so devilish here? This must be the corresponding side to some decision I made that either led me here or there… but what?_
> 
> _Must obey the Mistress! Must obey! Must work! Must! Must!_ His hand struggled against him to make their way onto the keyboard. 
> 
> "Oh, would you stop it? I don't even know what I'm doing here!" The hands continued their clamour towards the keys nonetheless. _Perhaps if I just let my instincts take over, they'll do whatever it is I need to do._
> 
> He let one hand hover above a button that looked particularly inviting. _Which me is it that wants to push it?_ He hesitated. _Oh, well._
> 
> Nothing happened. 
> 
> "No problem there. I guess I'm done!" He removed his finger from the indented button. 
> 
> There was a rumbling, felt long before it was heard, and the room began to glow a flashing red. A deep monotonous buzzing sliced into the hazy shadows. 
> 
> _Mistress will punish, I have been bad, I have failed, I deserve punishment, I am worthless-_
> 
> _Would you please shut up? What is wrong with you?_
> 
> The door crashed open and splintered against the wall. No need to turn around, he sighed, knowing who was standing there. "MAN-DARK!" she howled, voice resounding off the computer screens throughout the room, compounding as it bounced to slam into him more powerfully. 
> 
> He hunched down as far as he could. "Y-y-" He swallowed. "Yes, Mistress Dee Mentia?" 
> 
> "You have ruined it! Everything! Why did you deploy them without my permission? Now our timing is all off!" She clomped up behind him in those stiletto boots. "We were going to rule the world together, you and I. If they reach the city before my message, it will all be ruined!" 
> 
> _I have failed the Mistress and should be punished-_
> 
> "Look, Dee Dee," he growled, "I love you to no end but I'm not going to be your slave." 
> 
> She giggled her familiar high-pitched laugh- about the only thing about her that resembled the old Dee Dee, he noted sourly- and let it grow into a demonic cackling. "You poor fool. Don't you know it's far too late for that now? Perhaps if you would have taken a stand, oh, ten years ago it might be different. But you're way too enamoured with me." She smirked and lifted a palm in triumph. "You and the rest of the world. Soon they would be eating out of my hand, if only you had not just destroyed all that we have worked for. But it may still work yet." Propping one foot on the edge of his table, she leaned in on the bent leg and smiled at him, giving him her best bedroom eyes. "Consider yourself lucky I deem you worthy enough to aid my cause. You are my cohort, my accomplice, my _lackey_. I need your expertise to command the technical side of my missions, if you won't botch them up al the time." She leaned further, placing a finger under his chin and tilting his head up. "And keep you around for my personal amusement, as well. 
> 
> "But that's all beside the point," she snapped, standing back up and walking around to his other side. You may very well have destroyed everything we've worked for thus far, that will not pass without serious reprimands." She clapped her hand to his wrist. "Are you ready?" she hissed into his ear. He lowered his head and tried not to look at the revolting monster that could not possibly be Dee Dee. 
> 
> She unchained him from the workstation and threw him to the floor. His glasses popped from his face. "You imbecile!" she shouted- and a horrible laceration struck across his back. He whimpered but found no breath with which to utter a cry. The burning on his back was too much, all he could focus on… 
> 
> Four such blows came, each accompanied with cries from Dee Mentia that he could not decipher. His mind was concentrating only on the pain. _This is ten times worse than anything Olga has ever done to me! And it's Dee Dee- my love!_ He squinted; tried to reach out for his glasses. At last his fingers fell across them, and he brought them to his face… 
> 
> "Drop those," she commanded in an ephemeral gutteral growl. A pointed toe slammed into his jaw and the frames spun away from him once again and soon he had the acrid taste of blood in his mouth. Blackness encroached on his mind. _Please let this stop! This can't be Dee Dee!_ The darkness grew thicker and he thought he was going unconscious, until the familiar sensation of his bone being ripped from their sockets and brain boiling in his skull came over him. Colours flashed all around and the pain form the blows started to fade, as did everything else. 
> 
> -----   
"Stand up! Get back in line! What is your name, comrade?" 
> 
> Polished black bots were before him, and for a moment he feared he was still being tortured by Dee Mentia. But those boots were definitely not the same ones, he realised, and heaved a sigh of relief. He pushed himself from the grimy concrete and stood to face the irate soldier dressed in the taupe attire of the Red Army- and adorned with the red star pins to match. 
> 
> _Oh, great!_
> 
> "Why, I am Astro Nomenoff, my good sir." He brushed off his light brown threadbare coat. 
> 
> The officer peered at him quizzically. "In Russian, in Russian! We will have no spies here!" 
> 
> Mandark blinked; the officer _was_ speaking Russian, and yet it all came very naturally as one and the same in his mind. "_Menya zavut Astro Nomenoff, moi tovarisch._" The words came far more fluently than he anticipated; it had surely been a number of months since he had last even _attempted_ to speak his native tongue at home. 
> 
> "Very well. Stay in line, Comrade Nomenoff, and if I catch you trying to jump ahead again, I will do a lot more than just trip you." Chuckling to himself, the soldier sauntered over to one of his counterparts and lit a fresh cigarette. 
> 
> "Comrade Nomenoff!" cried someone from behind him. "You must forgive me; I did not recognize the back of your head." The man chortled. "How are you, friend? It's been nearly a month since we last spoke." 
> 
> Narrowing his eyes suspiciously, Mandark spun on his heel to face a stocky brown-haired man, dressed much lie himself, with thick stubble coating most of his face. _I've never seen this guy in my life!_ "Hello, Dmitri," though, he found himself saying nonetheless. 
> 
> "How are things at the institute? The wife?" 
> 
> _Wife?_ He rubbed his jaw in remembrance of his latest encounter with Dee Dee, though it wasn't sore. _Dare I even ask?_ "Same as ever. Work on this and that…" His eyes followed the stark stone face of a nearby building upward, past decorative accents of stars and sickles and hammers, and stony-faced labourers, past a jagged spire crowned with a red star, to a dusty, unmistakable winter sky ready to dump dirty snow on its unsuspecting denizens at any moment. As he burrowed his face deeper into the brown scarf wrapped around his neck, one corner of his mouth crept upwards in a tiny smile. _I'm home._
> 
> "Oh, sweet Mother Russia!" he exclaimed, and threw his arms around Dmitri in a joyous embrace. It had only been a year- to his nine-year old self, anyway- since they had left, but aside from Dee Dee, he was dying to go back. 
> 
> "Are you… feeling all right, Astro?" Dmitri took a step backwards and regarded him warily. 
> 
> A grin on his face, he tousled Dmitri's wispy hair. "Quite all right. Just singing the virtues of this beautiful day." 
> 
> "But of course, comrade." He tossed his hands into the air. "Every day is beautiful when you live in the Soviet Union!" 
> 
> Mandark's eyes flew open. _The Soviet Union? But… they toppled it when I was four! These buildings are just left over from the era!_ He spun around in place; the endless line of bundled-up people in which he stood, and the militiamen that watched them; the banners portraying some unknown man's face; the red star badge on everyone's coat… _What the heck is going on here?_
> 
> "I… I've got to go, Dmitri," he stuttered, and began to stagger away. 
> 
> "Astro, wait! Don't you want your bread for the week?" 
> 
> "Eat it yourself," he mumbled, and stomped down the slimy streets, past millions of sullen comrades weaving in and out of lines. He was somewhere near Kutuzovsky Prospect- at least, so it had been called when he first lived here- but everything looked so much wearier. Whatever mind of his he was occupying, it was being far too quiet to be of any help. _Wake up already and take me back home!_
> 
> _My name is Astro Viktrovich Nomenoff._ Then he fell silent once more. 
> 
> Sneering irately, he continued down the road. _The least you could do is guide me in the right direction. How the heck am I supposed to know where I live?_
> 
> _I live in Block 753, Building 5, Apartment 12A._ Well, it was a start. _I am thirty years old and I work at the Techno-Chem-Phys-Institute._ He sighed and pounded along; it sounded more like the mind was reciting the contents of the documents he no doubt carried in his right breast pocket. Why he didn't think to look at it beforehand was a mystery. 
> 
> In short order he was cramming himself into a tiny elevator not even an arm's span wide with an old woman and her fluffy dog, a young couple more than happy to make more room by scooting closer together, and a burly man who easily could have been an interrogator for the KGB from the looks of his bulging muscles and terminal scowl. All four and the dog gave Mandark a dirty look as he manouevred his way inside. The doors whined shut and the car began a nervous and reluctant climb up the shaft. 
> 
> He practically fell out of the car when it reached the twelfth floor. Scraping himself off the exposed concrete, he saw the tiny corridor that branched into two direction; 12A to the left and 12B to the right. "Here goes nothing," he muttered, and pressed on the partially-open padded door to 12A. 
> 
> The apartment's layout was exactly like that of every other working-class Russians apartment he had ever been inside. Down a short hall to his left was the kitchen and the washroom and the toilet closet, and before him were two bedrooms and the living room. 
> 
> "But can't you tell me why?" wailed a badly-dubbed voice in Russian, the original English still audible underneath it. 
> 
> His face dropped; finally he hesitantly moved for the living room at the back of the apartment. "Hello?" he asked squeamishly. He pushed the door open and stuck his head inside. Light blue wallpaper was visible where it wasn't covered by cabinets or thick Persian rugs hanging on the walls. Scientific books filled the shelves of the cabinet, alongside gaudy glass figurines, painted matrushka dolls, and liquor bottles. Alongside the wall nearest him was a brown deteriorating couch- and he jumped at the sight of a person laying on it. 
> 
> She was no different from any other middle-aged Russian woman he had seen down to the fiery orange dyed hair cut short around her face that had been the fashion since the late 1970s. She wore a light green apron over a black and white dress and tan hose full of runs. "Aren't you supposed to be at work?" she asked, eyes not moving from the television set as she took a sip from the shot glass in her hand. It smelled strongly of fermented potatoes. 
> 
> Perhaps it was just the fumes from her drink, but he felt overwhelmed suddenly. Stumbling into the room, he promptly fell into a striped armchair. 
> 
> "I asked you a question." 
> 
> All knowledge of the Russian language he had ever possessed escaped him just then. _I can't live here! I want to move back! What about my laboratory? What about…_ His heart sank. _Dee Dee?_
> 
> "Are they…" He swallowed. "Are they still showing Santa Barbara reruns on NTV? Surely you've seen the whole damn series five times by now." 
> 
> "I can't believe I'm sitting here, talking to a statue," said the sultry brunette on the screen. 
> 
> "No, I've never seen this episode before, so be quiet." She turned the volume up. "Shouldn't you be at the institute?" 
> 
> He would have gone to the institute, if he only he had known; he could have constructed some means to escape this insane reality. He looked down to his hands and wrung them, feeling the grime rub away as he did so. _This is my life?_ He only wished he could say it was nothing like the Russia of his childhood. But it was the same, and the things that once had been bad had merely become more so. He caught sight of himself in the cabinet's mirror and screeched. _I look fifty years old, not thirty!_ His skin was creased and worn, drooping sadly, and his hair was thinning and wispy. The trademark M he always parted into his bangs was gone. He still wore the thin coat and the moth-eaten scarf. 
> 
> "I decided not to go today," he stammered. One thing his dad had always told him about communism was that it was all too easy not to do one's job. 
> 
> She finished off her glass of vodka. "Moscow needs its leading scientist. Very well, I'll call you in during the next commercial break." 
> 
> "Oh." He relaxed and sank back in the chair a bit. _She'll just call me in sick. This shouldn't be so tough._
> 
> A dull pounding began to rattle the shot glasses in the cabinet; he felt the sound more than heard it. Too exhausted to pay much attention to the disturbance, he tried to formulate a plan instead. _Obviously I'm cycling through several alternate universes- any fool that can understand aqueous constants could figure that out. Something must have happened to my dimensional warper to make it go crazy like this! If I could just get back to it and walk through the ring- but I'm stuck over here on the other side of the globe-_
> 
> Finally the thumping outside was too much; he couldn't concentrate with the addition of trumpets and chimes and voices, chanting and blaring incomprehensibly. "I can't take it anymore! What's going on out there?" 
> 
> "Just another parade for the revolution's anniversary next week. It'll be one hundred years, you know." He stated to choke. _One hundred years? What about Gorbachev, and Yeltsin…?_ "Which reminds me, our anniversary is in a month. Are you going to drag me to Georgia again or can we go to Odessa this time?" 
> 
> Though already he knew the awful answer, he still wanted to ask just on the off chance… "What anniversary would that be?" 
> 
> "Oh, our tenth wedding anniversary." 
> 
> "Why did I marry you again?" The words blurted out before he had a chance to stop them. His annoyance with her was too strong, and that stupid talking statue on the TV was driving him nuts. 
> 
> "The state told you to." 
> 
> The chanting grew louder now, but his Russian was still too rusty to make sense of it. How he was having a conversation with this strange woman who was supposedly his wife was beyond him. "Why don't we go to America instead?" 
> 
> Slipping from her hand, the shot glass bounced on the rug a few times before rolling underneath the sofa. "We've never been before, I don't see any reason to now-" 
> 
> "Do you mean we as in we've never been together, or that neither of us have ever been?" 
> 
> "Well, you said you've never been, and I know I certainly haven't-" 
> 
> "What are you talking about, you orange-haired freak?" Finally she stopped staring at Santa Barbara and turned to look at him, heavily-makeuped eyes full of fear. "I moved there when I was nine, a few years after the fall of the Soviet Union!" Why wasn't his other self stopping him from saying this? "There I stayed! I'm not moving back here! There's Dexter, and Dee Dee, and Mr. Luvinsky… and… Dee Dee…" He sighed. "I don't know what's going on here, but I've got to leave!" 
> 
> "Forget the commercial break," she gasped. "I'm calling right now" She flew from the couch and darted into the main hall, and he saw her activate some sort of projector. The face of a Red Army man appeared. 
> 
> "How may I help you, comrade?" 
> 
> She smoothed her apron nervously as she spoke. "Well, originally I was going to call to turn in my husband for refusing to go to work. But… now he's gone crazy, and he's started yelling at me in English, and ranting about America, and some spy mission called 'Dee Dee' to topple the Soviet Union, and… I don't know what to do!" 
> 
> _Was I speaking in English?_ His hand involuntarily clapped to his mouth. 
> 
> "Fear not, comrade. We're on our way!" 
> 
> "Just stay calm," the blue bust of Caesar on the TV told the woman. "The fire won't harm me." 
> 
> The chanting was now quite audible form the streets below. "Long live the State and may it never fall!" 
> 
> With a crack the padded door to the apartment flung open, smashing into the coat cabinet behind it and knocking hats, shoes, jackets, and scarves to the ground. "Surrender to the State! Dissention will not be tolerated!" 
> 
> "NO!" he cried back. _Now I really know I've lost it!_ "I am the world's greatest scientist! You cannot live without me!" 
> 
> "There he goes in English again," his wife sobbed. 
> 
> The statue added, "Besides, I know how to save your marriage with Rodrigo." 
> 
> Seven troopers stormed their way into the rec room with their bayonets- _you'd think they could do better than that after a hundred years_- and surrounded him. "What is the meaning of all this, comrade?" 
> 
> "Long live Lenin!" rose the cries through the window. 
> 
> _Must speak in Russian,_ he reminded himself. "_Ya… buil…_" _I was confused. Confused! What's the word for confused? Oh, forget it!_ "I was mistaken, obviously, because I'm supposed to be back home in America, where I'm only in elementary school, but apparently I'm trapped in some messed-up alternate dimension where the USSR never fell and I'm married to some nasty hag instead of my love goddess Dee Dee!" His eyes were narrowed and he could feel his face going red with fury. "And yes, I know I'm speaking English, but maybe instead of shipping me off to a Siberian labour camp you could help me out a little and _get me the heck out of here!_" 
> 
> The phone began to ring. "Oh, that'll be Olga," his wife called. "I'll get it." 
> 
> "But I think he slept with my best friend Katie," the television moaned. The woman had the same dubbed voice as the statue. 
> 
> The soldiers looked at each other in bewilderment, then looked to the commander of the group. "_Ubitye!_" he howled. 
> 
> Blunt handles of the bayonets descended upon him in a grotesque flurry, bludgeoning and pounding him. _Why am I always getting beat up in whatever future I go to?_
> 
> "_Dolgo zhivot revolutsia!_" 
> 
> _Wait a minute…_ A strange possibility came to him. _The razor, and Dee Mentia… maybe these guys_ are _helping me out._ He began to smile. _They just don't know it._
> 
> "Why are you grinning, you fool? Stop that!" He smashed the rifle's butt against Astro's mouth. 
> 
> "Oh, by the way, Olga- yeah, it was bound to happen someday, he just snapped. So you wanna go to the disco with me tonight?" 
> 
> He felt his teeth knock loose into his mouth, and with excruciating pain came the sweet taste of iron. _Yes, yes! This must be the dimensional link!_ And sure enough, the familiar feeling of being torn limb from limb was present, and blackness washed over him. He welcomed the approaching void. 
> 
> "_Dolgo zhivot revolutsia! Dolgo zhivot revolutsia! Long live the revolution!_" 
> 
> -----   
_Now what?_ The darkness abruptly dissipated to luminous white, washing over everything. A bell sounded far in the distance and the blinding light began to diminish to reveal that he sat in a circle of four seats, the room still very white and surreal. 
> 
> He tried adjusting himself on the soft cushion; his legs were crossed underneath him, he noted, and his hands raised slightly to his sides. Silky white paints and a loose shirt clung breezily to his skinny form, wrapped with a silvery belt. _I don't even want to know. Just get me out of here._
> 
> "Is there something you wish to add, Mandark?" 
> 
> His head jerked up to stare at the speaker- and felt his mandible fall from its hinges. The woman had to be Olga- that chubby body and the pigtails were unmistakable- but a silky dress draper over her like a toga, and like his, her legs were tucked together and her hands held a little lower than her shoulders. 
> 
> "No, he blurted, not knowing what else to stay. He stared at the pearly round disk on her forehead. 
> 
> "Very well. Lord of the Sun, your reports?" 
> 
> Mandark didn't want to look; he truly didn't. Nevertheless his head snapped around to his left, to the miniature boy with the big orange hair in an outfit identical to his, save the golden sun bored onto his forehead. 
> 
> _I've gotta get out of here!_
> 
> All he needed were some bolts, screws, an amplifonic dethrasonifier, and some simple hand tools. It would take him only an hour's worth of work… He scanned the rounded room, but no exits were visible. 
> 
> "My quarter is peaceful," boasted Dexter. "Dee Dee, your report?" 
> 
> Mandark couldn't decide whether he wanted to see the beauty or not. Granted that just the sight of her was ample to heal his aching soul so long as she wasn't Dee Mentia again, he wasn't sure if he could bear to see her trapped in this freakish locale. _Perhaps I can take her with me when I leave._
> 
> "No news. All is well with the Quarter of the Moon. We are blended with great power now, my celestial siblings. Should your quarter be well, Mandark, Lord of the Stars, then the time for the Rite will have come." 
> 
> The beautiful voice got to him; he had to look. Dee Dee was as pretty as ever, perched as she was on her cushion, silvery white folds of her silk dress curtaining gracefully around her body. A silver belt was wound about her waist and its buckle adorned with a crescent moon. Her blonde hair was curled and piled on top her head, and another crescent was painted on her forehead. _She really is a goddess now,_ he sighed. 
> 
> "Well, Mandark? Your report for the Quarter of the Stars?" 
> 
> They all were staring him, not so much impatiently as expectantly. "It's… fine," he squeaked. "Yeah. Whatever. Now could you please help me get out of here? I really don't know what's going on…" 
> 
> Once more chimed the distant bell and they all frowned at him, but only briefly. 
> 
> "The Dythetic Rite, then," Dee Dee pronounced. "Dexter! Lord of the Sun!" 
> 
> Dexter withdrew a long-bladed knife with a sun on the handle form its sheath and extended it before him. "For the Sun, which brightens all things, and the power with which it rules the Universe!" 
> 
> "Lalavava! Lady of the Earth!" 
> 
> She, too, held out her own dagger. "For the Earth, which spawned all life, and the power with which it rules the Universe!" 
> 
> "Mandark! Lord of the Stars!" 
> 
> He ran his hand along the belt he wore in search of the sheath, which he finally found, and fumbled the knife from its casing. The hilt consisted solely of three carved stars, which made it difficult to hold properly. "Umm… for the Stars," he improvised," which are… really hot and gaseous?… and the power with which it rules the Universe?" 
> 
> Dee Dee shrugged, for the most part unphased by his ad libbing. "Dee Dee, Lady of the Moon! For the Moon, which governs all cycles, and the power with which it rules the Universe!" 
> 
> They paused, still suspending the daggers before them, all except Mandark with their eyes closed. The circular mosaic in the centre of the floor around which they all sat suddenly retracted, and a gushing fountain of ivory carved all over with celestial scenes rose slowly from the floor. It snapped into place, and all was silent once more save the muffled babbling of the water. _Maybe if I drown myself I can get out of here. I really don't want to have to bleed again._
> 
> One of Dee Dee's eyes popped open and peered at him. "Mandark, that's your cue," she whispered. 
> 
> "Right. He rose slowly from the pillow without the slightest idea of what was expected of him. _A little help would be nice,_ he thought, but his host body was making no response. _What do they want me to do?_ "Umm." 
> 
> "Go on," she coaxed. 
> 
> He squared his shoulders. "This is insane. I really don't know what I'm doing here, you see." A chime sounded again. "I was in the fourth dimension, see, and now I keep getting stuck in al these alternate realities." The chime rang. "Almost all of them have been weird… but this is the freakiest of them all. Now if you would happen to have an amplifonic dethrasonifier, I'd be more than glad to get out of your way and leave you to your primitive rituals." 
> 
> Now the bell was gonging crazily, and their temple began to shake. "It has begun," incanted Dee Dee, eyes going wide. 
> 
> "Our universal reign shall collapse," Dexter agreed. The dust of plaster began to cascade around him in increasingly thick clouds, and then a chunk of ceiling hit his shoulder. The bell was still ringing spastically. 
> 
> "It shall end now." Olga crossed her arms in front of her face. "The Universal Quatrain is doomed, we are all broken, and the unity of the Holy Conglomerate shall dissolve." 
> 
> "Umm…" he swallowed, "I'm sorry?" 
> 
> _Now what have I done?_ There had to be a way out of this… place… before the whole thing exploded. The floor cracked and split beneath him. _Well, based on how I got out of the other universes…_ He trotted over to Olga and extended an arm before her, covering his eyes with another hand. More pieces of moulding berated his head and shoulders. "Olga," he started, "I'm going to ask you to do this for me, just this once." I want you to scratch me." 
> 
> She opened her eyes but kept her arms raised. "What?" 
> 
> "Scratch me!" he sobbed, watching the while behind her crumble and reveal a lush garden. One by one, the trees and plants withered up and crumbled to rotting charred husks. "You do it all the time in the real world! Please, oh please, do it now, just this once!" 
> 
> "I cannot harm you, Lord of the Stars, even for destroying our empire." No emotion dared bubble through her tranquil voice, and she closed her eyes one last time, as though in anticipation of her final demise. 
> 
> He turned away from her condemning face, only to find that Dexter and Dee Dee were in the same pose. _I'll just have to do it myself._ Gingerly he pressed a fingernail to his forearm and winced as he dug it in. 
> 
> The walls were almost completely razed now and the fountain was spitting water in all directions at random intervals. He glanced at his cushion just in time to watch it erupt into flames, burning feathers drifting into the air. Still the bell rang as noisily as ever. _Now what, now what, now what?_ His attempts had left nothing more than small red welts on his arm, quite insufficient to draw blood. 
> 
> "Dee Dee, please! Snap out of this!" She did not even twitch at his pleas. Plaster and rubble piled around her, enveloping her in a cloud of dust, and a large pillar swung down and smashed behind her. The trees in the gardens beyond- at least, their wither trunks were melting into black lava. 
> 
> _I'm going to be killed if I stay here any longer!_ The fountain had ceased his flow, and he could just barely see Dexter through the dust on the other side as wrinkles grew on the boy's face. Abruptly the fountain began spewing blood, which quickly filled its basin in grotesque billows as it shot from the spigots. 
> 
> _Oh, how disgusting!_ He winced. _But… it's my only option._
> 
> He took a flying leap into the broad basin just as a huge chunk of marble fell where he had been standing. The blood did not cushion his fall at all, and he nearly smashed his skull into the towers of smaller basins. The fountain poured the liquid over him, washing through his hair and filling up to his neck until he thought he would be sick, until at last he was torn from time and space altogether. 
> 
> ------------   
Poor, poor Mandark! If the sight of a Dominatrix Dee Dee wasn't enough to give him a heart attack, it's all this alternate dimension travel, quickly depleting his sanity and blood supply! Where will he end up next? What crazy invention is Dexter up to now? And just what did Dee Dee do to Dexter's lab in the last chapter, anyway? And what about Olga, for the love of god, what about Lalavava?!?!? (And yes, Santa Barbara really is that crazy of a show in Russia, I've watched it many a time on exchange trips.)Find the beginnings of answers to some of these questions in the next stunningly boring, explosively long and expounding **Chapter Four: Don't Lounge Around**, coming at the start of May. Now write me a review already. ^^   
Drawings from this chapter: [Mandark & Dee Dee, Part I][1] | [Dexter & Olga, Part I][2]
> 
> **The Mandarkers Society [http://offcentre.net/mandark][3]**

   [1]: http://dystoria.com/dimensional31a.gif
   [2]: http://dystoria.com/dimensional31b.gif
   [3]: http://offcentre.net/mandark



	4. Don't Lounge Around!

> **DIMENSIONAL TERROR   
Chapter Four: Don't Lounge Around!**
> 
> This is part two of a ten-part story, which is designed to publish a new chapter every month, leading up to November 2001 when the new "Dexter's Laboratory" episodes finally premiere. The intent is to keep DL fans (and myself) interested in the show while we wait out the unending torment we must suffer until November.   
I'm REALLY REALLY sorry this part took me so long! It's the end of the school year so I've been extremely busy. But here it is at last, so enjoy!   
"Dexter's Laboratory" is © 1996 Hanna-Barbera Productions and Cartoon Network.   
------------ 
> 
> A detached echo hit him, almost inaudible, as he wrenched on the box. It was but a tiny blip in the rhythmic sounds of his laboratory and all its contents, but felt out of place just enough to make him look up from his work for a solitary second. Still, as he scanned the chamber, nothing stirred, no lights flashed out of sequence, and no screen's items changed. Even Monkey was sleeping soundlessly at the bottom of hi cage. So Dexter shrugged, and placed his hand back on the wrench. 
> 
> He had been toiling almost ceaselessly since returning home from school, with only a minor break to eat a snack. It was probably nearing dinnertime, he figured, and Mom would soon be coming to his room to fetch him. Instinctively his hand toggled the security cameras to display the entrance to his bedroom. The door was closed and all looked desolate in what he could see of the hallway and stairs. 
> 
> Something unsettled him about that, though- the silence and stillness. Now that he thought about it, he had had no interruptions since he went for a snack. He was almost done with the initial construction of the project, and the research and development time on it had been exponentially shorter than average. Everything was functioning thus far, and nothing was out of place. It could all indicate only one thing. 
> 
> "DEE DEE!" he howled, spinning around and crouching to a defensive stance. An innocent breeze of air brushed past him. The laboratory remained motionless and no unusual shadows revealed themselves. 
> 
> Dexter scratched at his fiery hair. "That's strange," he muttered to himself. "Dee Dee should have been pestering me hours ago." Once more he flipped through the surveillance cameras till a view of Dee Dee's door came on the screen. It was slightly ajar- just enough that he could see the pink ruffles of her canopy bed and an avalanche of stuffed animals and dolls devouring her floor space. He activated the "Dee Dee-Scan" switch on the console before him, and it began to whir. 
> 
> Green letters lit up on the monitor. "Ninety-eight percent certainty Dee Dee is not in the laboratory," it read. 
> 
> "Computer, why aren't you talking today?… Oh, never mind. I'll have to fix you later." He shuffled back to the workbench. "I have more important things to attend to… especially without Dee Dee around." 
> 
> _I still can't believe the nerve of Mandark, thinking he could defy the order of the very universe! That he could doubt what he saw there, thinks he can change it… Disgusting._
> 
> He pulled the wrench away- it was finally done. "At last," he smirked. "Now to install this piece, and it will be ready for testing." 
> 
> He all but pranced to the large box- the cannibalized time machine, with several new additions- and curled up to fit inside. The transport area, where the person would stand to use the machine, was only a few inches taller than he was, and just barely wider. His hopes were that the dimensions of the box would avert Dee Dee from using it. It was so much more serene without her around, swinging from the circuitry and crashing into delicately calibrated instruments with all the subtlety of a warhead. He shuddered at the very thought and hugged the interior of the transport protectively. Or tried. "Don't worry, my darling. Dee Dee will never hurt you!" Lying on his back, he began the rigorous process of installing the box into the transport. 
> 
> "Dexter." 
> 
> "Good to hear you working again, but not now, Computer," Dexter scowled, and continued his task of soldering wires. Should he call Mandark and have him come witness the first example of how fallible his theory was, or should he test it out- just in case? No, there was no need to test it out. He could not possibly be wrong! Today was his lucky day! "What a fine day for science!" 
> 
> "_Dex_ter." 
> 
> He sighed. "Computer, I'm busy. You'll have to wait." All was quiet once more as he wrenched away. 
> 
> "Listen up, you twisted little pigmy! Stop extolling your virtues and worshiping yourself and listen to me before I completely obliterate every single one of your alleged 'inventions' one by one!" 
> 
> With much bravado, Dexter slowly laid down the welding torch beside him, folded his hands in his lap, and scooted out of the box. He looked up to Computer's screen with patronising eyes and calmly asked, "Yeees?" 
> 
> "All right, Dexter, listen up. I'm going to try to explain this in a way that even your feeble brain can comprehend it." 
> 
> Suddenly a scowl crossed Dexter's face. "Hey, you don't sound like Computer!" 
> 
> A dramatic sigh rasped through Computer's ventilators. "Be quite and listen to me, Dork-ster." 
> 
> "Dee Dee!" Dexter cried. "Get out of my Computer!" 
> 
> "If you would just shut up and listen to me I'd explain!" the voice in Computer hugged. "First of all, I am _not_ that effervescent angel. It's me- Mandark!" 
> 
> Dexter screamed. 
> 
> "What do you think you are doing in my lab? Get out of here right now before I sic my robots on you! If you think you are going to learn the secrets of my laboratory by trying to get Computer to tell you, oh boy, do you have another thing coming!" 
> 
> "DEXTER! SHUT UP!" 
> 
> Dexter scowled and folded his arms in front of him. Why didn't he recognise that irritating voice from the start? That dirty rat! He'd do just about anything to get into Dexter's lab! "All right, Mandark. What do you want this time?" 
> 
> "Thank you." He cleared his throat with a considerable degree of authority that only deepened Dexter's frown. "After our little discussion in class today, I decided to conduct an experiment." 
> 
> "In my lab?" Dexter retorted, but got quiet again. 
> 
> "So I entered the fourth dimension and proved that there is no one set course of action for the future to take." Since Dexter didn't oppose- vocally, anyway; his jaw had fallen and his eyes were fuming- Mandark continued. "Don't be surprised that I was right, Dexter. Deep down you know I will always be better than you." 
> 
> "You shut up!" the stocky boy cried. "I'm gonna turn you off if you don't tell me what you're doing here right now!" 
> 
> Mandark chuckled to himself. "Right now, I'm waiting for you to quit whining so I can finish my explanation." Dexter was visibly broiling, but he stayed quiet. "I was on my over here to show you proof when I got sucked into an alternate dimension." 
> 
> "And just how are you so certain that it was an alternate dimension?" 
> 
> "I was twenty-seven years old and married to your sister." Dexter's face contorted to a look of shock. "I couldn't quite see the fourth dimension there, but the surroundings had similar qualities. It was our wedding anniversary, and we were having dinner together, and… oh, she was so beautiful-" 
> 
> "Whatever! I don't want to hear about your sick and twisted fantasies about my stupid sister! Get to the point." 
> 
> In a huff, Mandark snapped, "Fine, I won't tell you about you and Olga, if you're going to be that way about it." A squeak escaped Dexter's mouth but Mandark rushed along. "So anyway, I got out of that time frame and into some other-" 
> 
> "Wait a minute! What about me and Olga?" 
> 
> "_Stop interrupting me!_" 
> 
> Dexter glanced over to the nearby wall; the electrical plug jutting out from it was becoming all too tempting. "Fine, fine, tell me what happened in this second world." 
> 
> "Umm.. Dee Dee and I were going to take over the world, that's all." There was no need for Dexter to hear the whole story. "Then I was back in Russia, but it was still the Soviet Union, and my wife was watching these horrible Santa Barbara reruns, and-" 
> 
> Mandark stopped as he noticed Dexter's raised eyebrows and disapproving glare. "Does this have a point?" the shorter boy asked. He was getting tired of listening to the computer with Mandark's voice; he wanted to finish his project. 
> 
> "Yeah, yeah. Then you and me and Dee Dee and Olga were rulers of the universe and our little temple started collapsing and then the next thing I know I'm stuck inside your stupid computer." 
> 
> "A likely story," grumbled Dexter. "Do you mean you're tangled up in the circuitry, or what? I'm sure I could get you out within a matter of minutes- for the right price…" 
> 
> "No, no, no. You don't understand. I'm _in_ the computer." 
> 
> Picking up a screwdriver from a nearby workbench, Dexter eased his way towards the tower of blue command modules that kept his lab functioning. "Of course, Mandark," he said soothingly. "Whatever you say. This will just take a moment…" 
> 
> As promptly as Dexter had locked the head into the screw's notch on the faceplate of one piece of equipment, the box disappeared as if it had never existed. 
> 
> "Hey! What the heck do you think you are doing?" Dexter gasped. 
> 
> "Getting your attention. Don't try to trick me; so long as I exist in the computer, I can control everything attached to it through the plane of time. I'll make something else cease to be- to have never been created- if you won't get me out." 
> 
> Dexter let the screwdriver clatter to the cold floor. "What-ever." He wouldn't have admitted it, but he was terribly confused. "What do you want me to do about it?" 
> 
> "Though I realise your little mind may be incapable of this task, I want you to build a device to get my consciousness out of your computer and back into the third dimension with my body." 
> 
> Now Dexter could really feel his blood boiling inside his skin. "And suppose I don't want to help you?" 
> 
> "That's easy. I make it as though your lab was never created." 
> 
> "Ooh, why don't you just go back to whatever portal thingy you used to get in there?" He was growing tired of hearing that jerk's voice coming out of his precious Computer. Oh, poor Computer! How he hated for her to have to suffer through this! 
> 
> An angry growl burst through the speakers. "You think I haven't already tried that? It seems I only have control over things immediately connected to your computer. Which, by the way, is very poorly designed." It was Dexter's turn to growl now. "Now get me out of here before I destroy that thing over there that you were working on!" Dexter looked around; pointed questioningly to the tracker he had abandoned. "Yes, that!" 
> 
> "Go right ahead," Dexter barked. "That's probably your only way out." There was a rattling noise from Computer as Mandark quivered with rage. "But since I'm such a gracious scientist," he added, picking up a wrench, "I'll see what I can do." 
> 
> Grumbling irately to himself, Dexter began reconnecting some wires on the exterior of the dimensional tracker. He had to adjust it into some kind of portal that would yank Mandark from the fourth dimension with as little damage to Computer as possible. That fool! He had created the tracker to begin with so he could prove Mandark wrong, not to save him! Still… maybe after he got the intellectual inferior pulled out, perhaps Mandark would be indebted to him. Yes, he could already see the jerk sweeping Dexter's lab, washing out test tubes and cleaning Monkey's cage… that would be most excellent a sight. 
> 
> "Okay, I think I've got it now," Dexter declared, stepping inside the transport cube. "I just have to adjust one more thing." He slid open the internal compartment and snapped two wires together. "There." 
> 
> The transport began bouncing around and shaking; a whirring sound of motors being activated grew. Dexter blinked in horror as he noted that he was squished inside the transport area. "Oh, no." 
> 
> With a loud zap, he flashed out of being, into a swirling ominous void. He stretched across the canyon of time, then felt himself snap back together and abruptly crash face-first onto a concrete walkway. 
> 
> "Well," Mandark said, looking down at Dexter with a perplexed frown, "you got me out of Computer, at least…" 
> 
> "Oh, shut up and help me up." 
> 
> Gingerly, as though he were handling a dead rat, Mandark plucked the smaller boy up by one gloved hand and set him upright. "Now what, Dorkster?" 
> 
> They stopped and examined their surroundings. They appeared to be standing on a sidewalk, suspended in air, that curved and twisted through mellow darkness towards a low building of yellow stucco and brown rocks with numerous flashing neon signs adorning the walls. Though the building seemed very much alive, there weren't any indications that anyone besides the two rivals was nearby. 
> 
> "Well, is this the fourth dimension?" Dexter asked as he brushed himself off. 
> 
> Mandark held his hand before him and waved it a few times. "No, it doesn't appear to be. My hypothesis would be that we are in another alternate reality. Good job, Dorkster." 
> 
> "Hey, maybe if you hadn't been so impatient, I would have had time to test this thing a few times before I had to come rescue you!" 
> 
> "Maybe if you were a half-decent scientist, you would have built it right the first time!" 
> 
> "And maybe if you had half the brains I have, you wouldn't have gotten stuck in my computer to begin with!" 
> 
> Both boys were glaring at each other, their faces turning red and fists forming. They allowed themselves to tremble with rage for a few seconds before Mandark let out an exhaustive sigh. 
> 
> "I'm too tired for this senseless bickering. We're going to have to work together if we're going to find a way out of here." 
> 
> "We could go to that building over there and ask where we are," Dexter offered. 
> 
> Mandark looked over in the direction of the outpost. It reminded him of something out of a '60s sitcom, with its hideous stone façade and the thin, slightly sloped flat roof. Still, he could see nothing down the other way of the winding path, and he didn't dare peer over the edge to see what was below. "Very well. Let's go." 
> 
> "'Charon's Limbo Lounge'," Dexter read, when they got close enough to read the flashing sign. "What the heck is that all about?" 
> 
> Mandark shivered and decided he'd rather not find out. He'd had about all the unpleasant surprises he could handle in one day. The boys bobbed up to the front door and peered at it expectantly. 
> 
> "What are you waiting for?" Mandark asked, after an uneasy silence. "Go on in." 
> 
> Dexter squeaked his gloves together nervously. "Oh, no. You go ahead." 
> 
> "I couldn't possibly. Go in!" The metal semicircular handle fixed to the thick door bounced a warped reflection back at Mandark, giving him the chills. He'd rather not find out how he looked in this dimension. 
> 
> "No, you go!" Dexter began to shove on Mandark's knees. 
> 
> Scooping his hand behind Dexter and pushing him forward, he objected, "No, you go!" 
> 
> "You!" 
> 
> "You!" 
> 
> "You!" 
> 
> "You!" 
> 
> "You!" 
> 
> "You!" 
> 
> "HELLO!" 
> 
> Both boys shrieked and clung to each other, Dexter practically in Mandark's arms, then spun to the speaker standing in the now-open doorway. They quickly released one another and made disgusted faces. The man- if he was a man, anyway- wore a tuxedo with a white carnation in the lapel to complement his satiny red blazer. He did look human in the face, except for a bluish hue accenting his skin from underneath the thick black hair slicked back meticulously. 
> 
> "Hi, boys, I'm Charon, and welcome to my limbo lounge! The next boat won't be leaving for a while, so go on in and have yourself some drinks." The boys only stared and blinked, so he put an arm around each and guided them inside. "You two look a little fresh to be here," he observed, leading them through a harvest gold hallway. He pinched Dexter's cheek and stretched it way out before letting it snap back. "Let me guess- dimensional travellers?" 
> 
> "Wow," gushed Dexter, "how did you know?" 
> 
> "When you've been doing this as long as I have, you learn these things." 
> 
> Mandark cleared his throat. "I hate to interrupt, but would you mind telling us where we are, and how we get out of here?" 
> 
> "Isn't it obvious?" Charon's lips spread broadly across his face. "You're in limbo!" 
> 
> With a gasp, Dexter squeaked, "You mean… like…" 
> 
> "Like purgatory? Yep, the one and only! It's a shame you two didn't really die, but so long as you're here…" 
> 
> Now Mandark gasped uncomfortably. "So long as we're here, what?" 
> 
> A proud grin covered Charon's face. "Well, you know what they say. There's only one way out of limbo!… Well, actually, two…" 
> 
> Dexter started to look even paler than usual, and Mandark felt nauseous. 
> 
> "That doesn't sound very fair though, does it, since you two didn't actually die. So I'll cut you the same deal I make with all our dimensional travellers. You find another way out of here, and you're free to go to whatever dimension you please. Whenever you give up, though, I'll be ready to take you on down the river." He stopped; they had reached a large red atrium with concentric half-crescents of tables and booths all leading down to a dance floor that faced a stage. "Well, here we are, pick a seat. Hey, that's pretty catchy! 'Take you on down the river, pick you a seat…'" he sang, snapping his fingers and meandering off towards the stage. 
> 
> Mandark and Dexter gave each other looks. Not looks of anger, or pride, or arrogance, but for perhaps the first time ever, true questioning looks of total helplessness. 
> 
> "Well," Dexter swallowed, "let's sit down." 
> 
> They spotted a booth hidden in the shadows near the bar to the right of the stage. The seats were soft velvet, but the cushions were hardened from countless derrieres of the dead that had graced them over the centuries immemorial. The tabletop bounced their virile reflections back at them. 
> 
> Mandark leaned over the table to speak in a hushed voice. "Do you have any ideas?" 
> 
> "Me? What about you? This is all your fault to begin with." Dexter traced his hand along a water stain on the tabletop. 
> 
> Going on the defensive, Mandark lifted his head. "I wasn't the one who messed up the invention-" 
> 
> "This is quite enough, and will not get us anywhere." 
> 
> Mandark sighed and hung his head. He hated to admit it, but the whole ordeal was just as much his fault as Dexter's, if not more. "All right. We'll work together on this, just long enough to get us both out of here." He grudgingly extended a hand over the table. "Deal?" 
> 
> Dexter shook his hand curtly. "Deal." Both boys retracted their hands and rubbed them on their shirts. "Now then. I have a theory that each alternate timeline and what-have you is relative to a set fourth-dimensional frequency." 
> 
> "Oh, that's ridiculous," Mandark cried. "You're still clinging to the idea that time is impermeable-" 
> 
> "No, no, no," Dexter cut him off. "No fighting!" 
> 
> "I never agreed to not correct your glaring mistakes-" 
> 
> Two milkshakes slammed down in front of them. "Can I… get you anything… else…" 
> 
> The pair looked up to the waitress- she looked and acted like a lifeless zombie in a pink dress- and blinked. No energy or enthusiasm was left in the poor woman (if that was what she really was), not because she was bored with her job, but rather because she was… well… undead. 
> 
> She peered back at them in response, darkened eyes squinting. "Hey… you're alive, aren't you." Nothing was a question with this lady; it was all she could do to even be monotonous. "Hey, everybody," she called, just barely louder than her spoken voice, "we've got some _real_ people here." 
> 
> There were mellow shuffling sounds as numerous other patrons dragged themselves to their feet to jadedly marvel at the specimens. 
> 
> "Wow. You're real." 
> 
> "I… forget what it was… like." 
> 
> "Yay." 
> 
> Dexter tugged at his collar. "That's great. But if you don't mind, we'd like to be left alone, please." 
> 
> They mumbled incoherencies and all staggered off- including the waitress. 
> 
> "I was going to get some food," Mandark lamented. "I'm famished." 
> 
> His diminutive cohort, however, was not paying attention. Dexter was fishing around in his pocket with a look of consternation on his face. "Ah, here we go," he announced, pulling a large box-shaped device from his pocket. "Now my idea is-" 
> 
> "Wait a minute," Mandark shrieked as Dexter plopped it onto the table. The object was most definitely a controller, a black box with a silver dial on it and a counter that resembled a slot machine. "You've had that thing all along?" 
> 
> Dexter looked down at I sheepishly. "Well, yes, I guess I did…" He chuckled nervously under Mandark's furious stare. 
> 
> "Never mind that. How do we use it?" 
> 
> "Well," Dexter frowned, spinning the dial, "as I was explaining, this device is capable of changing the dimensional frequency of the person using it. Unfortunately, I have no idea what the right frequency for our world is." 
> 
> Scoffed Mandark, "No surprise there." 
> 
> "You be quiet. So my plan," he continued explaining, "is to have you wait here while I fid the right frequency for our world. Then I'll come back here and get you, and-" He stopped suddenly. What would keep him from just leaving Mandark here? 
> 
> Apparently Mandark had been struck with the same notion, though, for he said, "And what's my guarantee that you'll come back for me?" 
> 
> "Why, umm… you trust me, don't you?" He smiled. "I mean, I'm the good guy of the two of us. You know I would never think- Hey!" 
> 
> Mandark had snatched his glasses away and was dangling them high above the table. Try as he might, there was no way Dexter's stubby arms could reach. "These are my insurance," Mandark explained. "That you'll come back for me." 
> 
> "But I can't see anything!" 
> 
> "You can see well enough to tell what world you're in, and that good enough for me." 
> 
> Dexter reluctantly climbed down from his seat in the booth. "Fine. Let me set the frequency for this place so I can come back for you." 
> 
> "Wait a minute. You can set it to remember frequencies?" Dexter nodded in the affirmative. "Why didn't you set it when you were back in the real world? I mean, you would have needed it eventually, wouldn't you?" 
> 
> Astounded, Dexter could only offer a goofy smile. "Well… I guess I didn't think about it…" 
> 
> Yet again, Mandark sighed, and tried to get comfortable in the booth. He was going to be there for a while. "Whatever, you dimwitted dormouse. Just get going." 
> 
> With a self-preserving sniff, Dexter straightened up and gave the controller's dial a random spin. Then he was gone. 
> 
> ----- 
> 
> He had landed flat on his back on a cold tile floor- he was making a lot of uncomfortable landings lately, he noticed with dejection- staring submissively at the rows of hazy fluorescent lights overhead. It was certainly not his laboratory, but there was the unmistakable smell of sterilising soap and science wafting in and out of his nostrils. Thanks to that dufus Mandark he couldn't make out anything beyond that. 
> 
> "But of course I'm certain my equations are all balanced," a familiar voice came from the other end of the room. Dexter scampered to his feet and headed towards the sound. 
> 
> "Dexter, they don't look right to me…" Of course! The first voice sounded familiar because it was himself- his future self. The second speaker, though, made him cringe. He knew that voice as well, and he didn't like it one bit. 
> 
> "Just do it for me, Mandark, and I'll keep my end of the bargain. I have other homework I need to be working on. You _do_ want that date with my sister, don't you?" 
> 
> What was this? He was bribing Mandark to do his work for him? Unheard of! What on earth had possessed his future self to do such a thing? "Hey, what do you think you are doing?" Dexter shouted, waving his arms, but the two men did not appear to notice him at all- from what he could see of their blurred features, anyway. Stupid Mandark. 
> 
> "Well… all right," he heard the older Mandark sigh. "Fine. I'll do your work." 
> 
> "Great, roomie! See ya later!" Booted feet stormed past him in a rush. Dexter almost yelled at himself to watch where he was going, but decided to follow him instead. 
> 
> They flew from the science lab and trotted down a metal staircase. "Hey, you! Can you hear me?" the little Dexter called. The tall one made no response. When he had gone to the future a few weeks ago, he had certainly been able to communicated with his future selves. Why was this different? 
> 
> "I've got to get away before it blows!" the older boy cackled with glee to himself. 
> 
> "WHAT?" Little Dexter stumbled and rolled down the remaining stairs, right out the door on the heels of his counterpart. 
> 
> "Tricking Mandark into blowing up the lab is a brilliant way to get the school to build a new, better, high-tech one!" Dexter continued to brag to himself. "I'm even more of a genius than I used to be!" 
> 
> As they ran down a neatly-kept sidewalk, the young Dexter looked up to survey the lush fields and twisted gothic buildings looming around him beneath the thick cloud cover. It was evening, he believed, though the sun could not be seen. Persons of perhaps seventeen to thirty years of age roamed around without a care, many swinging backpacks, some with paint sets, and others just lounging around in the grass, munching on their dinners. None gave either of the Dexters a second glance. 
> 
> _Blow up the science lab so the school would build a new one… and place the blame on Mandark, too? I really am pretty brilliant!_
> 
> He followed the tall Dexter into a dormitory, up the staircase to the second floor, and down a dim hallway. He stopped before a door with a large paper sign on it. The word "Room" could easily be distinguished; the rest of it, not so obvious. It appeared that the names "Dexter's" and "Mandark's" had been written and scratched out many, many times. 
> 
> The older Dexter threw the door open and slid underneath the bed on the right side of the room. Younger Dexter had been expecting a neat, orderly room but instead was total chaos of lab coats, textbooks, beakers and jars, posters, electronic gadgets, computers and coffee mugs, all quietly parted by an innocuous red strip of tape running through the centre of the floor and up the walls. Such childish measures were surely necessary when trying to coexist with Mandark. 
> 
> "Hey, you! Come out of there! Can't you see me?" He flapped his arms and jumped up and down in front of the bed, rather resembling a penguin trying to fly. "Hello?" 
> 
> No response came from the Dexter under the bed, so he stuck his head down there as well. "Hey! Can you see me?" 
> 
> The silence was broken as a loud blast rattled the windowpane and sent some mugs still half-full of coffee to their demise on the floor. The Dexter under the bed began snickering madly. 
> 
> "I think I'd better get out of here," the other Dexter concluded. He held the controller directly before him so he could read the dial, twisted it at random, and clicked the button. He compacted into a tiny glitch on the smooth plane of time. 
> 
> ----- 
> 
> Mandark turned the glasses in his hand, noting with particular distaste that they were of the same brand and model as his. Probably the same prescription, too. He slid his pair down on his nose and held Dexter's up to his face. Everything looked clear as ever. 
> 
> His vanilla milkshake (which had taken a good forty-five minutes to order and another half hour or so to receive) was terribly bland and lifeless, which he supposed shouldn't have surprised him, given the mannerisms of the servers here. Is that would become of him if Dexter didn't get back soon? He shuddered and reached for his drink- but a blue-grey shriveled hand snatched his wrist. 
> 
> "How much… longer… can it last…" croaked the zombie, the words little more than air coincidentally rushing out of his lungs. 
> 
> Mandark slowly turned, hesitant to yank his arm away for fear the man's brittle hand might break off with such a movement. "I beg your pardon?" 
> 
> "You… think you're all that… just coz you're still alive. But just you wait…" 
> 
> "Well," he explained, "the average male American resident has a life span of about seventy years…" but his audience had slumped over onto the floor. 
> 
> "You'll have to excuse them," Charon called, as he rushed towards the booth with two men bearing a stretcher. "When they've been waiting for the ferry a while they start to get a little bitter." 
> 
> Mandark watched as the partially-animated cadaver was loaded onto the stretcher. "Do they continue to look like that, after you take them on the Styx?" 
> 
> Charon only gave him a sly simper. "That depends where I take them, son." He straightened his carnation, then headed back for the stage. 
> 
> Mandark gave a resigned scowl, then absently began sketching quantum equations into the tabletop. 
> 
> ----- 
> 
> "I get the feeling I've been here before," Dexter frowned as he looked around the grimy cubicle. Yes, it was definitely the same prison he had visited only a few weeks back… but didn't look nearly so condemning yet. There were newspaper clippings on the walls, photographs, company bulletins; the desk was a little bigger, and a tiny cabinet sat in the corner. 
> 
> The entrance to the cubicle slid open and Dexter instinctively dived under the desk. 
> 
> "I'm glad you could eat lunch with me, dear," snorted a highly obnoxious voice. "You know, starting next week, I can't leave my cubicle for lunch break." 
> 
> "How is he doing as president?" questioned an equally irritating female. 
> 
> Black pants legs scooted under the desk, sending him scurrying to one side of the confine as the man sat down. "Oh, he's just fine. He said he's going to give me a promotion soon- head of cubicle design!" 
> 
> "What?" squealed the Dexter under the desk. "You fool! Mandark's gonna beat you up and take over the world! Can't you hear me?" He crawled out and leaped up on the desktop between a dorky-looking older version of himself and the girl. That _girl_! No! It couldn't be! It was! 
> 
> He screamed dramatically. 
> 
> "Olga," explained the older Dexter, staring right through the younger one, who was fainting ostentatiously on the desk, "I'm afraid I still don't know when we can get married." 
> 
> She looked down at her hands and sniffled sadly. "But it's been a year since we got engaged. We haven't even started to plan the wedding!" 
> 
> "I know, dear. But with all these changes your brother is making, I just don't know…" 
> 
> While tearing into a packet of goo, Olga noted, "He still hasn't recovered, has he?" 
> 
> "Of course not. She was the only thing he loved more than power, don't you know. And she was my sister, after all." He pouted. "But there's no questioning the government. What's with the numbering thing they're supposed to be instituting next year, anyway?" 
> 
> Olga wiped her nose on her sleeve and adjusted her glasses, which were taped together in the middle. "At least I still have you." 
> 
> They both snorted, embarrassed. "Aw, shucks." Olga leaned over and they kissed briefly before pulling away with reddened cheeks. The older Dexter giggled. 
> 
> "Oh, please, this is pathetic," the other Dexter grumbled and jumped down from the desk (though he had some difficulty seeing the floor). "I'm getting out of here." Sick, sick, sick! Not only was he bowing to Mandark's every whim, he was in love with that repulsive jerk's sister? 
> 
> He spun the dial and faded away far too slowly for his tastes. 
> 
> ----- 
> 
> Charon and his band of zombie-like jazz players fell far short of entertaining. The Latin lounge music itself was all right, but the musicians, save Charon himself, had no sense of rhythm and kept falling asleep in the middle of a phrase. Charon was a bearable singer, though, and didn't mind too terribly that his band was awful- most the patrons couldn't hear it anyway. 
> 
> Mandark, unfortunately, was part of that minority that could, and at intervals he had to cringe and cover his ears in order to preserve his sanity. Two hours had passed since Dexter left to seek out the real world, but each passing second was like a million years of a slow, agonising death. There were still no indications that he would ever return; at this point, Mandark was devising countless theories about the two-faced jerk finding the real world, and getting a new pair of glasses… destroying Mandark's lab… oh, it was too much. 
> 
> Service around the place was lousy, though he realised he shouldn't expect much from a dead waiting staff. Even back home in Russia, when they had gone to dinner at a fancy establishment that took nearly three hours to prepare the food- and the Nomenoffs were the only customers in the whole place!- the service had been more attentive than this. He wasn't sure how much real-world time had passed since he entered the fourth dimension, but for him it seemed days, and he was starved. 
> 
> "Hiya, Man-dork." 
> 
> He screeched and curled into a fetal ball, clutching his knees. 
> 
> "Oh, get over it." She slipped into the other side of the booth, black pigtails bouncing as she did so. "I'm not here to beat you up- yet, anyway." 
> 
> With much apprehension he let himself unravel. "Very well. What do you want? How did you get here? You're not…" he gasped. "_Dead_, are you?" 
> 
> "What are you talking about? No, I'm not dead, loser." She frowned. "Mom's pissed at you for missing dinner, so she sent me to find you. Naturally, I checked your lab, and this stupid thing with the big ring that I had messed with earlier was still on." 
> 
> "Olga! What do you mean, you messed with it earlier?" 
> 
> She gave him a haughty look. "I was bored, so I spun some of the dials on it. Focus, triggers…" 
> 
> "Triggers? You mean to tell me that it's your fault that every time I bleed, I change universes?" 
> 
> Somehow the stocky girl found this uproariously funny, not even so much because she had caused her brother such trouble but the prospect that a drop of blood could alter the destiny of worlds amused her greatly. All the more indication to him that she would become a mercenary some day. He scowled at her and folded his arms. 
> 
> He then watched, aggravated, as the waitress came by to give Olga a glass of water, but walked away as soon as he pointed to his mostly-empty milkshake glass. 
> 
> "Anyway, I went through the damn thing- I mean, I didn't want Mom blaming me for your disappearance or anything- and I was in this freaky world that was all swirly and melted. It was really trippy." 
> 
> Mandark nodded knowingly after pausing to process the slang. "That would be the fourth dimension." 
> 
> "So I went outside," she continued loudly, glaring at him for interrupting, "coz I didn't see you anywhere in the house- I mean, there were lots of yous, but they were all faded and see-through. It was still raining outside, then next thing I know, I'm standing outside Charon's Limbo Lounge with big flashy lights." She reached for her water and brought it gradually towards her face. "Well, I found you. Mind telling me how the hell we get out of here?" 
> 
> "It was raining- wait- STOP!" In an instant he was strung across the table clutching her wrist as tightly as he could while she tried to shake him away so she could drink her water. 
> 
> "What is it now, little brother?" 
> 
> His eyes went wide and he fought to keep her from pulling the glass to her lips. "If you don't want to get lost in a string of alternate realities forever, DON'T drink that water." 
> 
> She studied him curiously for a moment; it sounded awfully ridiculous, but her brother was never one to joke. Not about alternate realities, in any case. "Explain," Olga commanded, still holding her arm taut. 
> 
> "That trigger you messed with. I don't know why I thought it was a good idea when I made the beginnings of that machine about a year ago, but I'd completely forgotten about it when I used the device today. What it's supposed to do is transport the user back to reality whenever they ingest a specified chemical compound in an alternate dimension. I never got that far on the design, though, and instead modified it to only carry me into the fourth dimension, and when I wanted to leave I only had to walk through the other side of the ring." 
> 
> She blinked. 
> 
> "So apparently you set it to blood, because when I skinned my knee it sent me to an alternate dimension." Not that he minded the first one, he confessed to himself. "But obviously it didn't work as intended, because I kept going to different places. Then it finally did take me back to the present, but I was still in the fourth dimension, and I was stuck inside- no, I _was_- Dexter's computer." 
> 
> "Wait a minute," Olga snapped, going pale. "Dexter's in on this, too?" 
> 
> Mandark nodded. "It's his fault that we're at this place. He was trying to get me out of the fourth dimension, and… well, I think you can deduce the rest for yourself, knowing Dexter." 
> 
> "Good for you two. Now what's this have to do with me drinking water?" 
> 
> "Don't you get it?" he cried. "That's what you set your trigger to. Nice job, Lalavava." 
> 
> "Shut up, Astro, or I'll cream you." Mandark sniffed at her contemptuously. "So how are we getting out of here anyway, uber-genius?" 
> 
> He seemed to be ignoring her, for she had finally set the drinking glass down and was scowling at the tabletop, twisting one of her pigtails round her hand. Finally he looked up, dangling a pair of glasses before her. "Dexter's using his controller to try to find the right frequency for our world, and I'm holding onto these as collateral until he gets back." 
> 
> "I'm proud of you." She paused. "Can I swallow?" 
> 
> "Only if you want to get lost in the multiverse," he replied with hardly a concern as to whether she did or not, and did not look up from the equation he had just started. How she hated him! 
> 
> "I'd been swallowing before you told me about the triggers, and nothing happened." 
> 
> Had he been writing with a pencil instead of using his finger to make hardly legible smudges on the tabletop, it surely would have snapped. He looked up at her, panic-stricken. "What?" 
> 
> "I'm serious. Saliva has water in it, doesn't it?" 
> 
> "Yes," he frowned. "Maybe only a high concentration of pure water sets the trigger off. But let's not risk it, just in case." 
> 
> "Fine." There was a silence as she stared wistfully at the glass of water. "So what exactly is this place anyway?" 
> 
> He shrugged. "Purgatory, home to Charon, boatman of the River Styx. He said we're free to leave if we can find a way out, which hopefully the Dorkster is doing right now." 
> 
> "I don't trust him," said Olga. 
> 
> "Neither do I." 
> 
> ----- 
> 
> He landed yet again on his back, shockwaves searing through him from the impact. When he opened his eyes, he still couldn't see much aside from a prevailing redness; probably never would see more than that until he got his glasses back from that lame brain. 
> 
> "Your most holiest Dex-tor," a voice incanted, "ruler of all Dextopia! I most humbly present to you the prisoners you wished brought!" 
> 
> Dexter sat up; rubbed his eyes. It was some sort of massive crimson atrium. At one end huddled blurred subjects and guards, while what could be no one but his other self sat facing them in a high-reaching black throne. Were those skulls carved on it? 
> 
> "Very well, bring them forth." 
> 
> A guard shoved a dark figure onto the tile before the throne. The scene was too far away for Dexter to see clearly who the prisoner was. "The first prisoner calls himself Astro Nomenoff, but he is Prisoner No. 36162." 
> 
> "You certainly look a fool," Dex-tor commented. "What is his crime?" 
> 
> "Use of science, and plotting to overthrow the sovereignty of Dextopia." 
> 
> Dex-tor thrust his arms into the air. "Execute him!" 
> 
> "And you always thought _I_ was the bad guy," the prisoner spat. 
> 
> Dexter approached the crowd tersely. He was pretty sure they couldn't see him, but with this madness going on, he wasn't taking any chances. This was not an accurate representation of the harmonious Dextopia he had seen a few weeks back! This was an inferno! 
> 
> The prisoner was definitely Mandark, he ascertained, as he was hauled away. Dexter could tell by the shape of the head. "Let it be known that science is forbidden to all but me, Dex-tor, and that I will have no dissention in my kingdom! All shall bow down to my pure genius thrice daily from here on out!" 
> 
> Every single member of the court dropped to their knees and bowed prostrate before him, wanting to get a head start. 
> 
> "All right, you may get up. Who is the second prisoner to defy my rule?" _He almost sounds as bad as that jerk Mandark when he was Overlord of the world!_
> 
> "Prisoner No. 36163," announced another jailer, dragging forth a scrawny, emaciated woman. "She calls herself… D." 
> 
> "Please, Dexter," pleaded the girl, but Lord Dex-tor quickly interrupted. 
> 
> "What is her crime?" 
> 
> The guard stared down at her with contempt, then paused for drama. "Accomplice to Prisoner No. 36162!" he cried. 
> 
> "Execute her!" roared Dex-tor. "Execute her at once!" 
> 
> The girl flung herself to the ground and started sobbing. "But Dexter, please! It's me, your sister! Why are you doing this, Dexter? What's happened to you?" 
> 
> "My name is Dex-tor," he growled. "Take her away." 
> 
> "No!" all the courtiers and guards cried in unison. 
> 
> Both Dexter and Dex-tor blinked in disbelief. "What?" Dex-tor asked. 
> 
> "We're revolting." They all began marching and climbing up the high throne of Dex-tor. 
> 
> "Not again! Stop revolting in my chamber! STOP IT! Guards! What's your problem this time?" 
> 
> Dexter groaned. "Good grief. I'm getting back to Mandark so I can see. This is getting absurd!" 
> 
> He twirled the dial back to the only preset frequency- that of Charon's Limbo Lounge- and was gone in a flash. 
> 
> ----- 
> 
> Dexter clattered to the floor before the booth from which he left, and saw Mandark's Oxfords tapping impatiently under the table. Grumpily he pulled himself back to his feet and dusted off his lab coat. 
> 
> "Did you find the right frequency?" 
> 
> "No." He looked up and prepared to give Mandark a long scolding about the troubles he had and just about anything else he could think to whine about when he spotted the fuzzy girl staring at him from the other side of the table. "Hey, what's she doing here?" he demanded, face getting hot. 
> 
> Mandark shrugged innocently. "She came to get me for dinner and ended up here with us." 
> 
> Snatching his glasses away from Mandark, who was absently twirling them, he slid them back onto his face and sighed with relief. "I shouldn't even be helping one Nomenoff. No way am I going to rescue two." 
> 
> "Oh, you can leave her here. It's fine with me," Mandark grinned. Then he howled in pain as Olga slammed her foot into his shin under the table. 
> 
> Dexter glanced nervously over at Olga. True, she _was_ Mandark's sister, but he seriously doubted they would cooperate long enough to gang up on him. Besides, there was just… something about her that he couldn't bring himself to abandon in this Latin lounge purgatory. Nobody deserved that, not even a Nomenoff. 
> 
> Her balled fists were also pretty difficult to say no to. 
> 
> "Fine. She can come with us… whenever we figure out just what it is we're going to do." He wearily pulled himself into the booth, sitting next to Olga and opposite Mandark. "Any ideas, Mandark?" 
> 
> Mandark opened his mouth, but Olga interrupted. "Why don't we try checking the different frequencies together?" 
> 
> "Well, it's a very… strenuous process," Dexter explained. "It might not be too safe." 
> 
> "And just what have we got to lose? At least we'd be _trying_ to get out of here. It's better than just sitting here, helpless." Mandark slurped up some more of his milkshake. 
> 
> Dexter looked to Mandark; he appeared very tired, and beat up mentally. Mandark's excursion into the alternate dimensions must have been far more taxing than his own. Then he turned to Olga. Her face was one of confusion, her chubby features almost looking… scared. But Olga, afraid? Impossible. 
> 
> "You're right," relented Dexter. "What really have we got to lose? I guess we'll just keep changing frequencies until we can find the right one. That shouldn't be too hard, no?" 
> 
> "Not any worse than what we've already been through," Mandark agreed. He was quite exhausted with playing parts in scripts he did not know. 
> 
> Dexter leaped from the booth and punched a triumphant fist into the air. "Then let's get the heck into the… umm… whatever universe, and find our way back home!" In his own mind, at least, a fanfare played for his valour. "Now just gather around me. I think that as long as we're all touching when I use the controller, we'll get transferred en masse." 
> 
> Olga hopped down from the booth and joined Dexter in the middle of the aisle, reluctantly taking his hand. Just for good measure, she gave him a dirty look. "Come on, bro," she called to Mandark, who was finishing off his milkshake. 
> 
> "Just a moment, I'm coming!" He slurped the last bit into his mouth- it had tasted increasingly better the hungrier he got- and leaped up. "Hey, wait!" he shouted. Dexter and Olga were already starting to shimmer and fade. "I'm not ready yet!" 
> 
> "But…" Dexter whined, "I didn't push it." 
> 
> Mandark took a flying leap at the two just as they started to disappear completely. His hand just barely hit one of Olga's pigtails, and for once he was glad to feel the sensation of being ripped limb from limb as they tumbled through the wormhole of time, twisting and turning… 
> 
> They smashed forcefully against a freezing marble floor, Mandark sprawled across his shorter two cohorts. Either it was very dark or else his vision hadn't completely returned, but he could just barely make out Dexter's and Olga's shapes. 
> 
> He scrambled back to his feet and glared at Dexter's form. "Trying to leave me behind again, Dexter?" 
> 
> "I was doing no such thing!" the other boy said. "I don't know what happened- I didn't turn the dial or anything, but it started transporting us anyway!" 
> 
> "So where the hell did we get dumped now, brainiacs?" Olga stood up and tried to see beyond the vague arches dipped in shadows. 
> 
> Dexter was staring at the controller in perplexment. "I don't understand! Why did you do that?" he begged of it. 
> 
> In response, a battalion of harsh lighting was suddenly turned on, berating the trio and making them all squint in agony. "What's going on?" winced Mandark, while Olga released a surly stream of curses. 
> 
> "_I'll_ take that," announced a man, and he wrenched the controller away from Dexter, threw it too the floor, and smashed a heavy boot onto it. 
> 
> ------------   
Whew! These chapters are getting insanely long! I'll do my best to get 5 out on schedule, though...   
So now where have the unlikely companions found themselves, and who is this mysterious person determined to keep them put? Can those two boys ever get along? And where the heck did Dee Dee go?!? What about Dee Dee? Find out in **Chapter 5 (which is not yet titled yet)**, coming this June! (Can you tell I'm tired? ^^) 
> 
> **The Mandarkers Society [http://offcentre.net/mandark][1]**

   [1]: http://offcentre.net/mandark



	5. Multiverse City

> **DIMENSIONAL TERROR   
Chapter Five: Multiverse City**
> 
> All right, so this is a month overdue. I thought summer would be an opportunity to get more stuff done, but it's just made me ungodly lazy. This chapter just proved unbelievably difficult to write; I've revised it as best as I could, but it's still not up to par as much as I'd like. Try to enjoy anyway; I should have 6 out in a more timely manner, within the month! (Let's hope. If not, Blame Louis.)   
"Dexter's Laboratory" is © 1996 Hanna-Barbera Productions and Cartoon Network.   
"Dystoria" and the characters Miss T and Ermina are © 2001 Lindsay Smith. (Someday, maybe they'll be part of Cartoon Network. I can dream, no?)   
"The Third Sharing" and the character Roydi are © 1999 Lindsay Smith.   
------------ 
> 
> Deep down even within his murky thoughts and jumbled situation, an instinct carved into his mind from years of childhood torment already told him what he was about to hear; what one innocuous phrase was bringing about this much turmoil and grief to his already quite complicated life. He could feel the words rattling in his ears moments before they sounded out, solidifying his hypothesis that everything bad that ever had and ever would happen to him could all be traced back to the fault of one source. 
> 
> "Hi, Dexter!" 
> 
> He spun from the hooded figure to try to face the origin of the voice, but slipped on the polished marble beneath him and promptly crumpled back to the floor. Something was wrong. His legs… He stretched them out before him and gasped. They were _long_! 
> 
> Apparently his comrades had noticed the change as well, for he heard Mandark babbling scientific nonsense to himself, and Olga gave off a shameful string of curses that put a blush to his face. "Holy shit," she breathed upon conclusion, "we're all grown up!" 
> 
> Dexter and Mandark turned to give her discerning looks, and she threw a (considerably slimmer, Dexter noted) fist to her mouth, whimpering. There was Dexter (looking very suave, she noted, to say nothing of three feet taller) in his plum sweater and grey wool slacks, soft orange hair trimmed neatly around his face. Her brother was dressed similarly with a navy shirt and black pants, and his head very nearly shaped like a normal person. Instead of slouching in fear like she had worked so many years to train him to do, he carried himself proudly. Then there was… herself. Her hair had been gathered up differently than the two pigtails she was used to. She felt so… _tall_, and thin, besides! Well, whatever all this dimensional blather her brother had been yapping about, it didn't seem half-bad as far as she was concerned. 
> 
> Mandark stared in shock, first at his sister in her purple business ensemble, then at Dee Dee in her luscious dress of smooth pink. She was even more beautiful than in the first alternate reality he had visited; her hair fell around her seraphic face in honey curls, and her breezy sundress reminded him of the movie stars of the first half of the century. Always he had loved her, but her she was, not as a suggestion of what could be or what could have been, but the true Dee Dee made beautiful before his eyes. Pushing his gaping mouth closed, he swallowed extensively and reminded himself to concentrate on the task at hand… whatever that was. 
> 
> The other three seemed to remember such at the same time, as they all turned to face the hooded figure who had obliterated their controller moments ago. Despite the effeminate cape of dark velvet, he had a sturdy figure that the cloak barely contained in its folds, and his hands- the only part of him visible- held stubby fingers that he drummed incessantly. He stood facing them, arms crossed, and Mandark suspected by the way he held himself that beneath the shadows of the hood a smirk was lurking for them. 
> 
> "I'm so glad you all could join us," he said flatly, giving them each a nod in turn. "Of course, I especially ought to congratulate this one-" he gestured to Dee Dee with a flourish- "for bringing you three here to us with that little controller of yours. Handy device, that." His hand swept to point to the twitching innards of the device on the floor. "To bad you won't be… needing them anymore." 
> 
> Dexter planted his face in an ungloved hand. "Where are we this time?" He was absolutely going to _kill_ Mandark for dragging him into all these unwitting travels, should they ever escape these dimensional loopholes alive. 
> 
> "Why, thank you for asking. This is Multiverse City, home to the Crossroads of the Worlds," he proclaimed, "the Portal to All Dimensions!" 
> 
> Hesitantly, Mandark reached out with his mind to test if he could sense a "host body" that he was trapped inside such as during his first excursion into the dimensions. No second voice responded, though, and he could find no traces of any memories that nearly all the other incarnations of himself had possessed in those places. But if they were really in some kind of dimensional terminal, why did they look so different? Residual self-image? True form? Or perhaps something much simpler… 
> 
> "Unfortunately for you, we've decided to close off the Temple of the Portals, so you'll be trapped here as one of our minions for all eternity." 
> 
> In unison, Dexter, Dee Dee, Olga, and Mandark all blinked. 
> 
> "Umm," Dexter frowned, scratching his head, "yeah. What?" 
> 
> The man sighed, and beckoned one of the three similarly robed figures standing behind him who, up until now, weren't even noticeable in the shadows. They seemed to have materialized within the intricate marble chamber. One stepped forward and held its hands splayed to the side. "You see, my dear travelers, you have chosen to visit the Crossroads at a very opportune time. I doubt you came here on purpose," the feminine voice added, giving a nod to Dee Dee, "she doesn't seem bright enough for that; but now that you're here, you should consider yourselves lucky. The Crossroads of the Worlds is the main joint in all the billions of the dimensional pipes, and is itself a thriving metropolis of interdimensional workers who… police the Portals, if you will. We're the four new rulers of this place, the Directory, you see, and we've decided to close off the Temple of the Portals so no one shall be leaving for a while. Instead, everyone will work here for us, monitoring and managing all the dimensions and living out their meaningless lives in silent despair!" 
> 
> "I'm confused," groaned Olga. Her companions gave her stares. 
> 
> A third figure stepped forward. "You can't leave here. You work for us now. We're taking over the worlds. Get over it!" 
> 
> "Oh." 
> 
> Mandark was not so satisfied with the answer. He hadn't traveled this long just to get ensnared in a crummy dictatorial interdimensional loophole, not if Mandark the Genius had anything to do about it! "What do you mean, we're working for you? I'm the world's greatest genius, and I work for no one." 
> 
> "Oh! The greatest genius!" the woman exclaimed in feigned delight. "If you're so bright, then it shouldn't take you long to realize that if you don't work for us…" She leered at him. "You'll be thrown into the Dimensional Abyss!" 
> 
> The sudden threat caught him off-guard, but such had been the way of things the past few… days? Hours? However long it had been. "Lady, I've witnessed a great deal of anomalies in the past few hours. I've journeyed to four different realities, found myself trapped in the consciousness of a computer, and been assaulted by countless zombies while trying to enjoy a pathetic excuse for a milkshake in the Latin Lounge club Purgatory from Hell," Mandark sighed. A few other sighs came from those around him, too, at having to listen to his troubles yet again, but he pretended to not hear. "There is in all probability _nothing_ you couldn't do that wouldn't make my day better." 
> 
> Could her face be seen, she doubtless would have been grinning. "Then perhaps you would like to experience the Dimensional Abyss first-hand? Frozen in time, forever trapped in the moment of a thousand gruesome deaths, time and space and life itself stretching you in a billion directions-" 
> 
> "Well… not really." He consciously forced himself to swallow his pride, which had been slowly rising as a lump in his throat. Not that he wasn't determined to find yet another loophole out of this stop in his own personal parade of treachery, but the dilemma still remained before he could go about seeking a means to escape: what exactly did these dictators have in mind for them? 
> 
> "Nice to hear. You four saps should fit quite nicely into our regime. Don't you think?" 
> 
> The fourth person, a man, gave a nod of approval. "I think they have a very bright future… in _clerical_ work!" 
> 
> The four robed tyrants erupted in billows of grainy, shrewd laughter, causing Dexter, Dee Dee, and the Nomenoffs to first twitch in fear, then look around in wide-eyed annoyance. If these four were supposed to be some manner of evil monarchs, Olga had to confess they weren't doing a very good job. She did notice, however, that now that she was nearly as tall as her brother, she was perfectly well suited to be the sinister miscreant she had always aspired to be… 
> 
> "Anyway," the second woman coughed, catching her breath, "all citizens of the Crossroads now work in the slightly utopian but ultimately oppressive socialist commune, filling randomly assigned employment roles in which you will perform meaningless tasks that will purportedly benefit the society as a whole, but instead will only result in multi-dimensional terror, more money for the four of us, and a pervasive feeling of worthlessness that will ultimately drive you to government-sponsored therapists who will console you with new-age psychobabble, racking up your debt to us even further and causing you to have to work even harder for the rest of your pathetic perpetually middle-aged lives." 
> 
> Olga had changed her mind. These guys _were_ good. 
> 
> "So, without further ado, we'll be sending you on your way! Have a miserable eternity." 
> 
> The marble floor opened beneath them, and the two sets of siblings were sent tumbling down a grimy metal slide, sloshing and spiraling in every which way through an endless labyrinth of the palace's ductwork. Olga instinctively latched onto the nearest solid body she was twisted around, which happened to be Dexter, while Mandark took the opportunity to throw his arms around Dee Dee (only to be rapidly thrown away from her and into Dexter's face). Dee Dee, being in the front of the human toboggan now, tried to slow their hasty descent, but alas, strappy pink stilettos did not good allies make and she achieved nothing short of nearly spraining her ankle. Toe shoes, she could handle, but this? 
> 
> Their avalanche was most unwelcomely halted by, not a soft mattress, but four hardwood chairs that probably would have been uncomfortable to sit in even had they not fallen into them from a ten-foot drop. Both Dexter and Mandark whimpered hysterically, Olga swore like a sailor, and Dee Dee stared with newfound infuriation at the grungy ceiling overhead, water stains and all, as her eyes vied to bring themselves back to focus. 
> 
> "Welcome to Multiverse City, capital of the Multiverse Socialist Interdimensional Republic," drawled a sinusy lady lounging behind a wooden desk and picking at her nails. "This is the Department of Redundant Employment. I'm Nina, your secretary. It's my job to make you uncomfortable and give you as indirect answers as possible." Her eyes drooped, accentuating her excessive makeup, and she commenced to idly chew her fingers. 
> 
> "Well, you're doing a very good job, Miss Nina," Dexter snapped. "Now what are our jobs?" 
> 
> This caught her attention, and she emitted a few curt chuckles before answering. "Oh, don't be silly. If you want job assignments, you have to wait in line. I can't tell you what you'll be doing, not only because I'm not in charge of that, but because it'd be a direct answer." 
> 
> Her crooked thumb jabbed down a darkened corridor roofed by gnarled pipelines; the foursome followed it with squinting eyes to the dank bending of the hall crammed with bickering, writhing, bantering, emaciated bodies threatening their way through, around, under, and over one another. The group's eyes widened in horror, and Olga bit her lip till it bled. 
> 
> "Buncha vipers, aren't they?" Nina simpered. "Have fun, kiddies." 
> 
> Mandark slid reluctantly from his chair and faced his three accomplices, sweat forming on his brow. "Come on," he sulked. "The faster we get this over with…" 
> 
> "The faster we become slaves," Dexter finished. "I've been there too many times- both under your command, and of some stupid ants- and there's no way I'm going back!" 
> 
> Mandark mouthed the word "Ants?" to De Dee, who only smiled and shrugged. Olga glanced at the two sitting on either side of her before reluctantly standing up to join her brother. "Well, if that's the only way out of here, I'm all for it. I'm sure you two geeks can find some way to get us out of here." 
> 
> There was an uneasy silence as Dexter and Mandark exchanged dubious faces. 
> 
> "What is your evaluation of the predicament, Dee Dee?" Mandark asked, returning his attentions to his fair icon. "You've been uncharacteristically quiet." 
> 
> She reached up to tug at one of her new golden curls. "I'm confused." Olga and Dexter released irritated sighs. 
> 
> "Fine. We'll get a stupid job and leave here," Dexter grumbled. "I'm sure that with my brilliance, they'll give me a job in some sort of sciency field and I'll be able to build something to get us out of here in no time." 
> 
> ----- 
> 
> "Secretary," declared the woman flatly, slamming the stamp forcefully onto Dexter's thick file folder. A bead of sweat crept down her smooth chocolate face, which she casually scrubbed at. The Department of Redundant Employment was kept much like one would a furnace: hot, and full of petrified lumps to do the dirty work. Dexter's Redundant Employment Officer, who would be overseeing his transition into droneship for the Multiverse for the next few months, called herself Miss T and was about as tactful as a hippopotamus. 
> 
> "What do you mean, 'secretary'?" he demanded, pounding a fist onto her desktop. 
> 
> "Oh, that's easy. You file, obey your boss's every command, and do grunt work." How Dexter would have loved to smack that haughty grin off her face as she said it… 
> 
> Instead, he deigned to cross his arms and pout to himself. _Nobody turns the world's greatest scientific mind into a secretary!_ he sniffled. "But you haven't even given me any sort of test to find out my qualifications! How can you just decide something randomly like that?" 
> 
> Miss T rolled her eyes, adjusted her red headband, and gave an exhaustive sigh as though explaining for the millionth time (which in all likelihood she was). "It's not about competency, child, or else I'd be running this department instead of sitting here explaining the whole stupid thing to you and every other stuck-up jerk to trudge through these halls. The fact that _you're_ getting the job is inconsequential. The point is that someone has to get it, and you're next in line." She forced a smile. "Welcome to the Collective." 
> 
> "Oh, whatever," he snapped, and scrubbed at his orange hair. It was great to be tall and grown-up, but everything that came with it here was not worth it. "So what exactly am I supposed to do?" 
> 
> "Make it as difficult as possible for people to see your superior," she shrugged. Wasn't it self-explanatory? These so-called "geniuses" these days… 
> 
> Dexter's scowl creased further down his face. "And just who might that be?" 
> 
> Several clicks came from Miss T's archaic typewriter as she pointedly ignored his question. Finally she looked up and yanked a nonchalant thumb to a nearby desk where Olga and her officer sat. "Her." 
> 
> "Now tell me one more time what I'm supposed to be doing?" Olga screeched, obviously not having received the reservation and maturity that should have come with her new adult form. 
> 
> "Oh, sure!" giggled Ermina, the Redundant Employment Officer that had been assigned to her. Ermina was nearly as bad as Dee Dee, giggling and getting easily diverted by shiny metal objects (not unlike a magpie or ferret), and constantly fussing with the two loops of blonde braids dangling from either side of her head. 
> 
> Olga was, suffice to say, _not_ in the mood for such puerility. After standing in line for four hours with Dee Dee and their respective brothers and about three thousand other unfortunate souls condemned for one reason or another to the same pitiful demise, the last person she wanted to deal with was a perky ditz with mall bangs. Mall bangs had been all the rage in the Soviet Union… when she was in kindergarten. 
> 
> "You're going to have a very important job," Ermina explained. "You'll be in the Department of Rejections, whose purpose is to project, proposal, petition, or other document that comes your way. People can only see you if they can get past your secretary- that guy over there." 
> 
> ----- 
> 
> "So what'd you get? Huh huh huh? Whadya get?" Dee Dee pranced around her three accomplices, heels clicking haphazardly on the worn marble floors. The outward change in age had clearly made no impact on her mental state, and in fact only seem to make her more so juvenile and irritating to her younger brother. Mandark didn't mind, though; the sight of his vivacious princess gave him renewed hope for the otherwise increasingly dismal day. There was no end in sight for their current location, and now that he had finally found the other three by pure chance in the infinite time-space continuum, he wasn't going to try tasting blood and risk getting sent elsewhere from them, likely to never escape. 
> 
> The four unwilling allies were being corralled through a grueling steep hallway of slick marble that had no end in sight- had been climbing it for a good twenty minutes. Countless other inductees to Multiverse City that had just endured the painfully long Naturalisation Department and its countless videos and seminars intended to elaborate for hours on every facet of life in Multiverse City except those which were really necessary to know. Every single one but Dee Dee was dragging his or her feet. 
> 
> "I'd rather not talk about it," Dexter mumbled, and tried to avert his sister's attention away from him. He was too busy trying to read the impossibly garrulous handbook, _Life in the New Regime of Multiverse City_ to figure out where the four of them were supposed to live (as the seminar, though long, had been none too helpful). 
> 
> Unfortunately, Olga took the initiative to embarrass him instead. "He's going to be my secretary in the Department of Rejections." A wicked grin came across her face and she pointed to herself proudly, tossing a wayward glance to Dexter, who only buried himself deeper in the handbook. 
> 
> Dee Dee howled with glee, and even Mandark cracked a smile. "The Dork-ster, a lowly secretary? To my idiotic sister, no less? If that won't be the most incompetent office around!" 
> 
> He was met with two blazing glares, and quickly clamped his jaws down, remembering a little too late that no longer were they as short as he was used to them being (not that Olga was any less dangerous at _any_ height). He really had no interest in discovering what sort of punch Olga could pack now. 
> 
> "What about you, Man-dork? What kind of loser job did you get?" Olga demanded, keeping her hot eyes even on her increasingly uneasy brother. "Or could they not find something stupid enough for you?" 
> 
> "I'll have you know that my job here is very important," he retorted. 
> 
> Olga lifted a doubting brow. "Oh?" The possibility of her brother ever doing anything important was beyond her. 
> 
> "Yes. I'm doing… bookwork," he explained, with no intentions of describing it further. 
> 
> "Whatever." Olga followed Dee Dee with her gaze, who was still trotting around the other three. "Uh… Dee Dee?" 
> 
> Not about to give up her romp, she shrieked, "Yeah?" 
> 
> "Your job?" 
> 
> "JANITOR!" With that emotional outpouring, she flung herself at her brother for reasons never to be rationalised by the order of the universe, the manual flying from his hands, clattering to the worn incline, then sliding down… and down… and down… 
> 
> Dexter, who was panting from their continuous ascent of the ramp, watched in horror as the book was consumed by the feet of the thousands of new citizens struggling their way up the corridor. "Dee Dee…" he whimpered, and collapsed to the stone floor. 
> 
> "Go get your book, Dorkster!" Dee Dee joyously replied. 
> 
> Dexter tossed a hopeless glance to the Nomenoffs, who responded only with frowns. Mustering as dramatic a sigh as he could, he began his march back down the slope while the three continued ever skyward. "Wait for me when you get to the top," he called at them, though he knew full well it was useless to even wish they would grant him such a favour. 
> 
> _Why did Mandark have to drag me into all this?_ he wailed silently as he fought against the hordes of prisoners making their own journeys up the incline. They jostled him aside, and he could just barely catch sight of his handbook, bouncing against their legs and tumbling further down, to the very base of the endless stone expanse. Dexter chased it as vigourously as he could, unaccustomed as he was to the sensation of having legs. 
> 
> At last I high-heeled foot stretched out to halt his book. Dexter dashed towards it to scoop it up. "Thanks," he mumbled, reaching for it, but the woman beat him to it. 
> 
> "Hi," she smiled, clutching the handbook by its spine but remaining bent over. 
> 
> Dexter blinked, his hand still outstretched. "Can I have my handbook back?" 
> 
> The woman straightened up and smoothed her blue knit skirt, but continued to hold onto Dexter's guide. "Well, don't you look a little out of place," she laughed after studying him with beady eyes. "How did you get stuck here? Did they snatch you out of your dimension, or did you come here by accident?" 
> 
> Emitting an indignant snort, Dexter crossed his arms. "Why, I came here on purpose, of course. I'm a brilliant scientist, you know." 
> 
> She chuckled and brushed a wispy piece of mousy brown hair out of her face. "Is that so. Then you're just the man I'm looking for. I'm Roydi, and I think I may know something of getting out of here." 
> 
> Numerous passersby turned to give them suspicious looks when she said the last part, and Dexter shuffled his feet. "And how the heck do you propose that? And why are you telling me, for that matter?" 
> 
> "Because I need the assistance of a scientist. That and- Well. It's not important." 
> 
> He looked wary at the last comment, but smiled. "Then you've come to the right little scientist! My name is Dexter- boy genius!" 
> 
> There was a great silence. 
> 
> Then, "Boy?" 
> 
> "…Well. I guess I don't look like a boy right now." 
> 
> Roydi shook her head. "The whole perpetually middle-aged decree, right." 
> 
> "This place is so very confusing," Dexter groaned. "My whole day has been this way…" 
> 
> "Would you like me to explain to you what I've come to understand about it? In return for your assistance, of course." She flipped through Dexter's manual. A subtle action, but he caught the meaning- she was still in possession of it. "I've been here for a few days, and- well, I'd like to think I've made some amount of sense of it all." 
> 
> Taking a step back (and inadvertently bumping into an irate man, who departed after a few choice words), Dexter adjusted his glasses. "I don't know. I've got to get back to my… um… friends." Even the feel of the word left a bitter taste in his mouth. His sister and the Nomenoffs were the _last_ people he'd choose to forge an alliance with. 
> 
> "Great!" she exclaimed, clasping her hands together. "I can explain it to them, too." 
> 
> Mumbling to himself, Dexter tried to tail her all the way up the endless hill, and hoping this woman wasn't planning on making a permanent addition to their group. That was the last thing he needed! 
> 
> ----- 
> 
> "I propose we forget him," Mandark said. "He abandoned us, and would he return, he will only drag us down once I found a method of escape." 
> 
> Olga offered her grudging agreement; she was preoccupied with her new hairstyle and the joys of having limbs worthy to be called legs. Dee Dee was not quite so eager. "That's my little brother you're talking about, and we can't just dump him here. 
> 
> "As I recall," Olga said pointedly, looking over at Dee Dee from where she was leaning against a cracked column, "you weren't with us at the Limbo Lounge. That means you are not part of this expedition, and you have no say. Dexter left us, so we're finding our own way home, and we're doing it right now." To emphasise this point, she shoved off the column and strode toward the centre of the row, hands on hips and a scowl on her face. 
> 
> "Just how did you get here anyway?" Mandark asked. Despise Dexter though he did, he had no desire to go against the wishes of his true love. He was slumped against the self-same column, seated on the cool floor (about the only relief from the dreadful heat, making everyone's hair stick to their necks and their new business attire cling ever closer to their bodies). He was staring in turns at the floor and at Dee Dee, doing his best not to ogle her new… adult figure. _I have more taste than that,_ he told himself repeatedly. 
> 
> With her usual flippancy, she shrugged it off. "I was playing in Dexter's secret laboratory." That part came as no surprise; didn't all Dee Dee's adventures begin that way? "There were these two remotes on the table, so I took one of them-" more astounding logic from the gem of his heart- "and then there was this new machine that Dexter had been working on, so I went and played with that, and I got here!" She giggled, quite proud of herself. "Then the remote- I had forgotten about the remote, till those hooded people started asking me lots of questions, so I told them about it, then they took it from me-" here she pouted- "and pressed a button, then you guys showed up." 
> 
> "Nice recap. Wonderful help you are," Olga muttered under her breath. 
> 
> Mandark wasn't nearly so amused. "Despite the fact that we're all here, why has everyone had so much of an easier time of it than me? I've been whipped! Trampled! Drowned! Attacked by zombies!" He howled despairingly and pulled his knees under his chin. "Is it so much to ask that I prove Dexter wrong? That's all I really wanted." 
> 
> Olga crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. "Here we go again." 
> 
> "It's okay, Mandark," Dee Dee cooed. She kneeled beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder. "You don't have to be better than Dexter." 
> 
> Looking up at her and trying to suppress his joy at her reassuring touch, he smiled. "Really? Why's that, my precious angel?" 
> 
> She stood up. "Because you're _both losers_." 
> 
> Olga cackled, and Mandark just stared in disbelief. This was all a nightmare, he was sure of it now. Any moment Olga would be pouncing on him safe in his bedroom, yelling at him to get dressed before he missed the school bus and forcing him to do her homework. Father would be shouting in Russian and Mother burning the toast, his robots laying out his outfit for the new day… He glanced over at his sister; for the first time in a long while she looked truly distraught and uncertain. Even Dee Dee was sullen. And to what end had he brought such misery to people for whom he cared? 
> 
> Olga's sad expression had turned to a haughty one. 
> 
> Well, one he cared for, at least. "This is all my fault!" he cried. 
> 
> "Hey, everybody!" called the non-specific but unmistakably European accent. "I see you finally found the exit to the streets. There's someone I'd like you to meet." 
> 
> Three heads turned to the grown Dexter first and then the squirrelly woman by his side. Dee Dee blinked; Mandark raised an eyebrow (his witty retort all but forgotten); Olga grimaced. 
> 
> "This is Roydi. She says she knows something about the Crossroads of the Worlds place and she may know a way to get out of here." 
> 
> The lady gave a nervous nod to them. "Dexter tells me he's a scientist, and with his help I can probably reopen the Portals." 
> 
> "Portals? I'm a scientist too, you know," Mandark frowned. 
> 
> Roydi began, "Even better-" 
> 
> "You're no scientist," Dexter cut off. "The only thing you've accomplished is getting us all lost!" 
> 
> "If _some_one would've believed my theories of alternate dimensions in the first place, I never would have had to show you the hard way!" 
> 
> "I wasn't the one sabotaging people's labs and possessing their computer!" 
> 
> Dee Dee rolled her eyes. "Oh, shut up, you two!" Mandark eagerly complied while Dexter did what came naturally between siblings: he stuck his tongue out at her. 
> 
> "So long as we're adults here, we might as well try acting it," Olga grumbled. "There's not a single one of you I enjoy being around but I'm sure as Hell not trying to get stuck here with you guys forever." Dexter took particular offense to this and glowered at her while the others just sulked. 
> 
> "Um. So none of you are really… adults." Roydi took a step back. 
> 
> With a wave of his hand, Dexter shrugged. "Age is irrelevant. You're looking at the greatest scientific mind to exist." 
> 
> "Yeah, right over here," Mandark waved. 
> 
> "Right," Roydi frowned. "Tell you what. If I don't want to get arrested, I need to get back to work, but let me write down my apartment number for you and we can talk later." She pulled a pen from her purse and scribbled something down, then handed the scrap to Dexter. 
> 
> "Pink ink! It's hurting my eyes!" he screamed. 
> 
> Roydi laughed. "Of course. Everything in Multiverse City is written in impossible-to-read pink ink." 
> 
> "How evil." 
> 
> "Cool!" Dee Dee shrieked. 
> 
> Roydi looked frightened once more. "We'll speak later. G'bye!" With that, she scurried off, a slight limp apparent in her left leg. 
> 
> "She seemed nice," Dee commented. Olga gave her a dirty look. "What?" 
> 
> "Can we go locate our apartment now? I feel as though I've not slept in four days, and my body needs to be replenished," whined Mandark. At this point he no longer cared what horrible excursions sleep would bring; were it to transport him away from here, perhaps it'd be for the best. 
> 
> Dexter shuddered. "I'm almost afraid to see it." 
> 
> Narrowing her eyes at him, Olga snapped, "It can't be too bad, Dexter. We could have been there an hour ago if you weren't off talking to that Roydi girl." 
> 
> "What's your problem with Roydi? You just met her!" 
> 
> "So did you," Olga harrumphed. 
> 
> Mandark and Dee Dee looked at each other suddenly, the same question raising in their eyes. Mandark shivered. Was this the answer to his problems with Olga he had been waiting for? Or the beginning of unimaginable nightmares? 
> 
> "Come on, dorks! Let's go!" Dee Dee bounded to her feet, Mandark close behind her (despite a discouraging glance). Together they shoved on the massive brass door that would finally release them from the catacombs that were called the main government building, which they had weaved through for hours, and set them loose into some semblance of confined freedom, in which they could plot their escape… 
> 
> "Um… Olga?" Mandark called. 
> 
> She broke from her staring contest with Dexter. "What is it, Man-dork?" 
> 
> He let the door glide slowly open. "One thing about Multiverse City might cause you a few problems… It always rains." 
> 
> ----- 
> 
> Beating on the soggy packet, Miss T worked to shake out one last crumpled cigarette from the confines. Oh, sure, she claimed to have kicked the habit years ago, but if anything could drive a person back to tobacco, it was Multiverse City. God, what a wretched place this was. 
> 
> She shrank back under the recesses of the porch and glared at the rain splattering beyond the overhang as she lit the stick. What in the worlds had possessed her to take this job? Hadn't the Galaxy Force been murder enough? Working for the twisted sadists that had seized control of Multiverse City two years back could kill a resume faster than a… faster than a… she didn't even know what. As she exhaled, one hand twitched on her white skirt to pull the worn fabric closer to her knees. She'd be damned if she ever earned enough on this worthless salary to buy some new outfits. At least she'd been hired into the position instead of shanghaied to the Multiverse like so many of the million other tormented beings that she dealt with on a daily basis- that much, she could be grateful for. 
> 
> "Miss T! I thought you stopped!" gasped a voice behind her. _Oh, God, not again…_
> 
> "It's none of your business, Ermina." 
> 
> The blonde woman looked at her with her eternally innocent wide eyes. "You're going to kill yourself," she admonished, wrenching the cigarette from Miss T's lips and tossing it into the rain. 
> 
> "Hey! That was my last one!" she cried. 
> 
> "Good. Keep it that way." Ermina leaned beside her, blonde braids frazzled and pink bows sagging. This isn't very fun, Miss T. I thought you said this would be better than our old job." 
> 
> She wasn't about to break the denser woman's resolve. Ermina trusted her decisions far too blindly. "Why… of course it is. Instead of being cooped up in a spaceship all day, we get to sit at desks and make other people's lives miserable." 
> 
> "But I don't want to make people miserable." 
> 
> "Then why the Hell do you wanna work for Myopia?" she snapped. Honestly, she just didn't understand Ermina sometimes… 
> 
> Ermina stuck out her lower lip. "I'm sorry, Miss T. I just thought… maybe you were unhappy here, too." 
> 
> "Nonsense," Miss T said. "I mean, even if I was- which I'm not, mind you- we couldn't leave here without the Quatrain's consent." 
> 
> "Oh." It was a dejected noise. 
> 
> "I'll make you a deal. If we ever get out of here, we'll apply for Myopia," promised Miss T. 
> 
> Ermina threw her arms around her, despite vehement physical objections on Miss T's part. When finally she freed herself of the overzealous woman, Ermina spoke once more. "Oh, Miss T? You know those four kids we saw today?" 
> 
> "There ain't no kids in Multiverse City. Everyone's gotta suffer through the age of the mid-life crisis. It's how the Quatrain keeps them in submission." 
> 
> "Well, yeah, but you could _tell_ they were kids." 
> 
> Miss T frowned in thought. "Yeah, I think I remember." 
> 
> "Do you think they were- _you_ know… the Four?" 
> 
> The lighter she had been idly flicking on and off crashed to the pavement, shattering. Was it really possible? On the one hand, it could make things even worse, but then again… This could be just the break they were looking for; maybe she could keep her promise to Ermina after all. Still, she couldn't get the girl's hope up. Or her own. 
> 
> "I don't know, Ermina. I don't know." 
> 
> ------------   
Next time: Will Olga get home safely? Will poor Mandark ever win Dee Dee's love? What is this mysterious Roydi up to, and why has she come to our foursome for help? What is the mysterious Four Miss T and Ermina refer to? Find out next time in **Part Six**! _Dexter's Lab is all about bad science!_   
Don't worry... this WILL all come together in the end. Thanks for all the reviews I've gotten lately! Believe it or not, they DID prompt me to get to work! We're halfway there. A new contest will be coming to the Mandarkers Society in the next few weeks to illustrate your favourite scene from this epic. Details to follow on the site. 
> 
> **The Mandarkers Society [http://offcentre.net/mandark][1]**

   [1]: http://offcentre.net/mandark



End file.
